


Between the Lines

by The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff



Series: Between the Lines [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, IDK if it qualifies as slow burn, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Texting, but I also don't know how long it'll be, but there will be a happy ending I swear it by the old gods & the new, lol past me it's definitely a slow burn, maybe? - Freeform, mental health, the Mage is still a twat because he's a twat in every universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 133,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff
Summary: Neuro-atypical uni student Baz Pitch has never had a boyfriend, or a first date. He’s never even been kissed. Up until now, he’s been too busy being…well. Neuro-atypical.He spends his days at uni and his nights working at the bookshop owned by his eccentric aunt’s on-again off-again boyfriend. He’s not doing it for the money—he doesn’t need any, not with the inheritance his mother left him. All he needs is something to do, something to get him out of the house. But he never expected a simple bookselling job to turn his entire world upside-down.Enter Simon Salisbury. He’s not sure where his life’s headed. He’s taken a gap year, and his girlfriend’s gone off to college in California and broken things off with him. When his best friend Penelope takes him to the bookshop near her school for a coffee and a scone, he thinks all he’s getting is advice and commiseration. But then there's Baz.Simon’s determined to get to know the bloke at the bookshop, but Baz has spent a lifetime trapped inside his own mind. He knows that letting Simon get to know him means exposing the most vulnerable bits of himself. But love is vulnerable in itself, and sometimes trusting someone with our hearts is a risk worth taking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonllotus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonllotus/gifts).



> Dedicated to the lovely person who showed me that AUs are amazing. (You told me to tell you when it was posted but I already had it gifted to you so _there _.)__
> 
> So here I am, thinking to myself that I'd love to write a fluffy AU. And I sit on this desire for a while, no ideas in sight. And _then_ I recall the time I spent as a bookseller at Barnes & Noble, & the setting for this fic was born. There will be fluff. There will be pining. There will be shameless flirting. There will be general idiocy. Strap in, folks, because if I'm being honest this is probably going to be a bumpy ride for all of us. (I _thought_ I had the plot planned out, but you know how the boys get away from me sometimes, yeah?) 
> 
> Rated M just in case I forgot to cover my bases.

**BAZ**

 

I’ve got two hours at the bloody register tonight, and it’s absolutely dismal.

Nicodemus says it’s not quite close enough to the holidays for the shop to be busy on the weeknights, and one hour up here is enough to bore me half to death on a normal day. There was more business during the summer, back when I was working days, and it always made the shifts go by faster.

Not that I _always_ want them to go by fast. I love books, and I’m surrounded by them here. (Most people think you can just sneak off to read when you work in a bookshop, like there’s nothing you actually have to do. Most people know fuck-all about working in a bookshop.)(I _do_ sneak a few lines now and again, but only when I’m shelving books, and only when Nicodemus isn’t around.) My aunt Fiona likes to remind me that _she’s_ the one who got me this job; she’s been dating Nicodemus since they were at university.

“ _Why don’t you get yourself a job, Basil_ ?” she said. “ _I think Nico’s got an opening at his shop. I could put in a good word for you._ ”

I didn’t _need_ a job, not really. My family has money, and I have a large sum of it in the bank that my father gave to me when I left home this summer. It’s everything my mother left me when she…

Well. When she died.

I was there when it happened, but my memory’s a bit hazy; I spent a while in hospital afterwards. All I really remember is her driving me to school, and shattered glass, and _blood_.

I remember we were listening to Queen, because we _always_ listened to Queen in the car.

They told us later that there’d been some drunkard on the road, headed straight for us. My mother swerved so he wouldn’t hit my side of the car, but he hit hers instead, crumpled in her door and all. I’m glad I can’t remember it. I don’t want to remember her like that.

I was only ten when it happened, and I still miss her, sometimes. It doesn’t _hurt_ as much as it used to, doesn’t make me so angry I want to scream and hit and punch. It’s more an _ache_ , right in the middle of my chest. Sort of like when you love someone but you know you can’t have them…

I suppose it’s exactly like that, isn’t it?

There was a long while after she died where I couldn’t even remember the _good_ things. All I knew was that one day I had my mother, and then suddenly I didn’t. Somebody _stole_ her from me.

I barely spoke for weeks afterwards; I cried and raged instead. My father sent me to therapy, and I remember sessions where I was completely silent, sessions where I threw things. And when I finally did start talking again, I’d developed a lisp.

At first the doctors thought there was something wrong in my head; I was concussed in the accident so it was a fair assumption. My therapist said it was the emotional trauma that did it, not the physical.

I don’t have the lisp anymore, thank God. Well. I don’t have it _most_ of the time. Sometimes it still crops up when I’m exceptionally nervous. (I try _not_ to be exceptionally nervous.)

Anyway, Fiona is my mother’s sister, and I’m living with her in her flat now that I’m at university. She and Nicodemus don’t live together; I actually don’t understand why they’re _together_ at all. Fiona says they _tried_ living together once, years ago, but it didn’t work out.

To each their own, I suppose. I end up having the flat to myself more often than not, because if Fiona’s not there she’s spending her time with him. I suppose at least _something_ about their relationship works out, anyway.

“Didn't know you were on tonight.” Dev's come up to my register. He leans against the counter.

I cross my arms. “I’ve been closing a lot lately. That’s what happens when you actually close _well_ ,” I say, because Dev is an infamous half-arsed closer. I’ve opened after he’s closed the night before and the shop always looks like it was struck by a whirlwind. It’s almost embarrassing that we’re related.

“ _Your mother scraped bottom when she married a Grimm_ ,” Fiona likes to say, but she put in a good word for Dev anyway.

Dev rolls his eyes. “Could just be because closing’s better now, with uni and all.”

“I close even when I don’t have class,” I remind him. “And it’s _fine._ I’m more a night person, anyway.”

“Vampire,” he says. He grins at me when I roll my eyes. “Is that when all the good parties are on? You been holding out on me?”

“I don’t _do_ parties,” I say. That I don’t drink is left unsaid.

“You’re missing out.”

“I assure you I’m _not_.”

“Could be a chance to meet someone.”

“Dev.” I level him with a look and a raised eyebrow. “You _really_ think that’s how I’d like to meet someone? Some idiot pissed out of his mind?” I scoff. “I don’t _need_ someone, anyway. I’ve got school to focus on.”

“Just because we’ve got school doesn’t mean we can’t have a little _fun_.”

“I don’t need to _have fun_.” I know what kind of fun he means, and I’m not one for random hook-ups, one-night stands. I’m a _virgin._ I’ve never even kissed anyone.

Eighteen and never been kissed. I try not to think I’m pathetic.

Dev pushes himself away from the counter. “Christ, I didn’t realize you were in such a bad mood today,” he says. “Maybe a little fun _is_ just what you need-,”

“Would you _fuck off_?” I hiss. Dev may be my friend, but he’s terribly annoying sometimes.

“ _Fine_ ,” he says. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing you outside work now and again, yeah? Niall too.” We've been friends since primary school, the three of us, been through a lot together.

I don't know that I've _been_ a very good friend lately. I’ve had a lot of schoolwork, and I’m working when I’m not in class. I honestly can’t remember the last time I _saw_ Niall at all; we don’t share any classes.

Dev looks over his shoulder at a customer making her way towards my register. He looks back at me, smiles, gives the counter a few taps. It’s his way of emphasizing what he just said, that he wants to see me.

“Yeah,” I say, and he heads off to do whatever it is Dev does while he works. Fuck-all, probably. From what I've seen the last few months, he mostly just tries to pull the pretty girls who come in looking for books.

In retrospect I suppose that might be the only reason he applied for the job.

I ring up my customer, check the time. Only another hour and forty-eight minutes to go.

 

**SIMON**

 

“It’s for the best, Simon,” Penelope says.

She’s sat across from me at the café - the little one inside the bookshop by her school - and I know she’s talking about Agatha and me. She wouldn’t have that tone if she weren’t, the one she gets when she’s trying to sound understanding but not let on that she’s secretly relieved.

There’s nothing _secret_ about Penny being relieved that Agatha broke things off with me.

I stop picking at the scone on my plate and look up at her. (The scones here are delicious - sour cherry - but I can’t bring myself to eat it right now.) She’s looking back at me from behind her purple horn-rims. “For the _best_?” I repeat, because I feel like anything else I try to say might come out completely wrong.

“ _Yes_ , Simon,” she says. Penny always says my name like that when she’s trying to drive home a point. Has done since we were kids. “Look, I know it’s a sore subject-,”

“ _A sore subject_?” I hiss. A few people glance over at us from their nearby tables. “I literally just called you to tell you Agatha dumped me, and you say _it’s for the best._ ” Penelope may be my best mate, but she drives me completely mental sometimes. (I suppose she wouldn’t be my best mate if she didn’t.)

“It _is_ for the best,” she says again. “You’re my friends, Simon. I want the two of you to be happy. But I don’t think you were happy _together_.”

I sigh and clench my fists in my lap. Agatha - my girlfriend (well, ex-girlfriend, I guess) - decided to go to uni abroad. She left for California in August, and before long she was calling it “college,” and now it’s November and she says things aren’t going to work between us.

The thing that I can’t quite figure out is that I know she’s _right._ Agatha's right, Penny’s right. And I don’t know what I’m even feeling right now. More irritated than sad, I guess. I’d talk to my mum about it, but she’s working. She works the late shift at the hospital, and she can’t have her mobile on the floor. I wasn’t about to call the hospital phone just to talk about my feelings, so I called Penelope instead. She thought a coffee and a scone might cheer me up. I think she just wanted to come here for the books.

I throw my hands up, drop them to the table. “I guess not,” I say.

“What’re you feeling?” Penny says. She reaches across the table and sets a hand on top of mine. I'm not _pale,_ exactly, but I look it with her touching me. Penny's half-Indian - her skin's like caramel, almost. It's pretty.

I shake my head. “Dunno,” I say. “I guess I just…” _What?_ “I dunno. I thought Agatha was it for me, yeah? And now it's like...I've got to start all over.”

“ _Simon_ ,” Penny says, and she squeezes my hand. “Are you _listening_ to yourself?”

I don’t know what she means; I must look it, too, because she rolls her eyes at me and keeps on. “It sounds like you loved the _idea_ of Agatha. Not _Agatha._ And that's not fair to either of you, is it?”

“I _did_ love Agatha!” But even as I say it I feel _nothing._ Just...hacked off. I guess that's not nothing.

Penny leans in because people are staring at us again. “If you did,” she says, quietly, “you wouldn't be thinking about how you've 'got to start over’ now _. Jesus._ She broke up with you, what? An hour ago?”

I shrug. Penny hates that, but it's the best I've got sometimes.

And anyway, it’s been at least _two_ hours, now.

Penny sighs. It's an exasperated one. “Do you want another scone?” She gestures at my plate. All I’ve got is a scone crumpled to bits, pieces of dried cherries.

I sigh, too. “No.” The damn thing was nearly three quid. What I _should_ do is get myself a spoon to scoop the crumbs up with. Maybe I will, if they have butter.

I think about what Penny’s just said, and then I think about Agatha’s phone call, earlier. I don’t _like_ thinking about things too much; but I’m sort of bothered that I’m not more upset than I am. (Which is maybe a _stupid_ thing to be bothered about, that I’m not _bothered enough._ )

“ _It’s just not going to_ work _, Simon_ ,” Agatha said. I don’t even think I realized she was talking about _us_ when she said it.

“ _What d’you mean, it’s not going to work?_ ”

“ _I want to stay here, in California. And I just...I don’t_ know, _Simon. We’re just_ better _as friends, aren’t we?_ ”

“ _Did you meet someone out there?”_ I said, because it seemed like the only thing that made _sense._ “ _Is that why you’re doing this?”_

“No _, Simon. It’s just...I don’t even know if I_ want _a relationship. And it isn’t you. I mean with_ anyone."

“ _You don’t. You don’t want a_ relationship? _What does that even_ mean, _Agatha?”_ And then I added an " _I love you,”_ because that’s what you’re _supposed_ to say when you’re arguing, yeah?

“ _Simon_ ,” she said, and then she was crying. “ _You_ don’t. _You don’t love me. You love the_ idea _of me, of having a girlfriend._ ” And I thought that was ridiculous, because I wanted Agatha from the moment I saw her. But now Penny’s said the same thing, and I can’t stop thinking about it, can I?  

About how Agatha and I never really had much in common…

About how we used to have _fun_ together, anyway, when we were just friends, and then everything just got _harder_ when I asked her out earlier this year…

About how the first thing I thought when she told me she was moving wasn’t how I’d miss her…

...it was how I wouldn’t have someone to watch _Doctor Who_ with anymore, because Penny and my mum don’t like it.

I guess Agatha and me had that in common. We both like _Doctor Who._

I can’t really think of anything else right now, if I’m honest.  

“Pen?” I say, and it’s quiet because I’m not sure I really want to ask this question.

Penelope looks up from her cappuccino. “Yeah?”

“You don’t think. I’m not.” I look down at my ruined scone. “D’you think I’m...like my dad?” My dad promised my mum the world, then he ran out on her as soon as she told him she was pregnant. Maybe he only loved the idea or _her_ , too.

Penny reaches for my hand again. We've got scone crumbs between our fingers. “Simon. The fact you’re even _asking_ if you’re like your dad proves you’re not.”

I lift my eyes to hers. “Maybe.”

She squeezes my fingers. “You're _not._ It just didn't work out. That happens sometimes. It doesn't make you or Agatha bad people.”

“Yeah, alright,” I say, because I'm not _good_ at talking about this stuff and I don't want Penny feeling sorry for me.

Penny squeezes my hand one more time before pulling it away and wiping it clean on her skirt. “You alright, Si?” Her eyes are soft, now, a warm chocolatey brown.

“Brilliant,” I say, and I try to smile at her so she knows I’m not completely yanking her chain. “Did you want to look at books while we’re here?” Her eyes light up as soon as I say it. Of _course_ she wants to look at books - she’s _Penelope_ \- and I don’t want her worrying about me.

“You sure you’re alright?” she asks.

“ _Yes_. Fuck. I'll be fine. Just have to get used to it, y'know. Being single again.” I look down at my scone again and decide I’m _not_ going to eat it with a spoon. “This is ruined, then, innit?”

 

**BAZ**

 

Ten minutes to close and the last two hours have gone by at half the speed of _smell_ , for Christ’s sake.

Dev came back halfway through to tell me we’re going out tomorrow, the three of us. Didn’t even ask if I’m free.

" _I looked at the schedule, you berk_ ,” he said, “ _And Niall’s got nothing on. You’ve got no excuse.”_

I suppose I can put my schoolwork on hold for one night.

Five minutes to close. I don't even know if there's actually anyone _in_ the shop right now. Dev made the closing announcement just a few moments ago and I haven't seen anyone. The last customer I had was at least thirty minutes ago.

I'm about to walk away and start tidying up the front of the shop when I hear a familiar voice.

“Oh, hi Basil! I didn't know you worked here.” Penelope Bunce is hurrying towards my register with a stack of books nearly as long as her torso. (Which isn't saying _much_ ; Bunce is quite short. She has to lift herself up on tiptoe to set her books on the counter.) We take the same Literary Classics course at Watford. She's sharp as a whip, and I _do_ like her, in a begrudging sort of way.

“Hello, Bunce,” I say, and I take her books and start ringing her up. _The Vampire Lestat, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, A Darker Shade of Magic, The Handmaid’s Tale…_ “Your taste is...rather eclectic, isn't it?”

“We’re reading enough heavy stuff for school, wouldn't you say? I wanted something a little more _fun_.”

I hold up _The Handmaid's Tale_ and raise an eyebrow. “Fun?”

“Well, I like Atwood. Feminist lit, you know. Speaking of which - what did you think of Possibelf's _Les Mis_ essay?” It’s astonishing, sometimes, the speed at which she can spit out words. “Have you finished already?”

“Not quite.” That’s the main thing I’ll be sacrificing while I’m out with Dev and Niall tomorrow. (Dev would probably rip me a new arsehole if he heard me say _that._ Well. He’d _try._ ) Time out with my friends will do me good, I suppose. I shouldn’t be thinking of it as a bloody _sacrifice._ (I can’t help it, which I suppose is part of the bloody problem.)

Bunce keeps on, “Well, I'm writing about how the love story between Cosette and Marius is truly unfounded. It's just... _unrealistic_ , don't you think? And Cosette doesn't _need_ a man to save her, anyway. It's like Hugo just passed her off from Jean Valjean to Marius like she's some, I don't know... _goat._ ”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “A goat.”

“You know what I mean.”

“It was a different time, Bunce,” I say, and I tap the screen where her total's showing. “I'm inclined to agree, though. Marius didn't appreciate what was right in front of him.”

“Bloody _Eponine_!” Bunce says, shaking her head. “I'm telling you, the whole Cosette-Marius romance is completely _contrived_. A way to just pass Cosette off from one man to the next."

I smile at her. “I didn't disagree, did I?”

She hands me her money. “What're you writing about, then?”

“ _I,"_ I say as the register clicks open, “am writing about Enjolras, Grantaire, and the tragedy of a queer love story never told.”

“Enjolras and Grantaire?” she says as I hand her her change. She's scrutinizing me from behind those ridiculous purple frames of hers. “I didn't catch that.”

" _The_ _tragedy of a queer love story never told_ , Bunce,” I say. “Read between the lines. You want a bag?”

“Normally, no, but my mobile said it looks like rain.” I bend to reach for one of the larger bags, and Bunce leans over the counter to look down at me. “It sounds interesting, your paper. Can I-,”

“ _There you are_.” A male voice, headed towards us by the sound of it. Maybe it's Bunce's boyfriend; she's mentioned him a few times in class.

When I come back up with the bag, my breath nearly catches in my chest. Penelope's friend - boyfriend? - is... _well._ Breathtaking. I'll just go full cliché here. He's bloody _breathtaking._ I legitimately forget to breathe.

I’m hopelessly queer; there’s no getting away from that, but I don't know that I've ever just outright _stared_ a bloke down like this.

Blue eyes. Bronze curls. A scattering of moles on freckled tawny skin. Broad shoulders, _strong_. Shorter than me. I’ve always thought I’d be with someone taller...

He's staring at me, too. 

I've just remembered I'm supposed to be _working._ And that I'm just standing here holding an empty bag like an absolute numpty.

 _Stop,_ I think, because I don't know how long I've been looking at him and I'm not about to embarrass myself in front of _Bunce_ , for God's sake. I tear my eyes away and start bagging her books for something to do.

I think, _He can’t be her boyfriend._ I seem to recall Bunce saying something about her boyfriend being Latino, which this bloke is decidedly not. She’s talked about a friend before, hasn’t she? The one taking the gap year. Maybe _this_ is him.

I want to look at him again.

“Is your name really Tyrannosaurus?” he says.

Right, like I've never heard that one before.

I sneak a glance at my name tag and hold in my sigh. I’ll need to have words with Dev later; he’s been in my locker again, switched my regular name tag with the one I got when I first started here. Everyone had a laugh about it except me. _No one_ calls me Tyrannus. I should really throw the damn thing out.

I don’t raise my eyes. I just focus on my work. “ _What._ ”

“Your name tag,” he says. “It says you’re called Tyrannosaurus.” Perhaps he’s just an attractive moron. A bit of a pity, that. A waste of good looks.

I think, _It's_ Tyrannus, _you complete imbecile. Can't you_ read?

I’m expecting him to be smiling at his own joke when I look back up. He’s got his brow furrowed instead, and is that a  _blush_? He’s rather adorable when he looks confused.

I think, _No. No, no, absolutely_ not _._ Probably straight anyway. A straight _moron._

I say, “No,” and hand Bunce her bag and her sales slip. “See you in class, Bunce.” Oh, _fucking hell_ , if the goddamn lisp didn't pick the absolute worst time to show up.

She raises an eyebrow at me and takes her things. “See you,” she says. “C’mon, Simon.”

“Right,” the blue-eyed twit - _Simon_ \- says, and he follows after her like a dog on a short leash.

I watch him go, because it’s a nice view if nothing else. Then he bloody well turns around and catches me staring at his arse.

“What’s your name, then?” he says.

I’m struck dumb. I swallow, because I _need something to do._ And also I can't trust myself to speak right now.

Bunce has come up beside him. I hear her say, “What’re you doing? They're closed; we need to go.”

He doesn’t pay her any attention, just _grins_ at me. His smile's like the sun. “So?” he says. “What's your name?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. (I’m not sure if he can see it from this distance.) “What do you care?” I say, and then I walk off in the opposite direction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, feelings, plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning - mild sexual content (pretty nondescript masturbation)
> 
> Me: There will be no sex whatsoever in this story.  
> Also me: ...  
> Still me: Writes about masturbation.
> 
> I CAN'T HELP MYSELF. (And it's not like Baz didn't famously try to wank his feelings for Simon away in canon, so.)

  **SIMON**

 

I don’t know what just happened, so I _don’t_ tell Penelope about it.

I just…

I don’t _know._

My heart feels like it’s about to beat out my chest, and I’m glad it’s dark outside because I think I’m _blushing._

 _Tyrannosaurus,_ fucking hell. Fucking dyslexia. _This_ is why I’ve never volunteered to read out loud in class. That bloke probably thinks I’m a complete moron. I’m not even sure why I _care_ what he thinks; I don’t even know him.

He was just so…

_Bloody perfect._

I don’t know what this means.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about his hair - it was long for a boy’s, black and wavy, and it looked like it’d be nice to touch. Soft. Silky. And his skin. I’ve never _seen_ skin that color before, a sort of reddish-brown. Almost copper. And his _eyes…_

His eyes were so _intense._ I’ve never seen that color before, either; grey, with a dark ring around them and...maybe flecks of silver, even? I’d have to get a better look.

I don’t rightly know why I’m thinking these things about a _bloke._ It scares me, a little.

I still want to know his name.

A lightning strike lights up the sky and the clouds that’ve rolled in. They’re grey in the flash. Grey like those eyes.

I try to remember when I’ve ever compared Agatha’s eyes to the bloody _sky._ Any girl’s eyes. I can’t.

Fucking hell.

“Ooh, best be getting home,” Penelope says. “Let me know when you get to yours, alright?”

“I will,” I say. We both still live at home. Penny and I talked about getting our own flat together, but then we decided it was best to save the money for now. Penny can focus on school that way, and I…

Well, I really should start getting serious about looking for a job, shouldn’t I? My gap year’s been downright boring so far, and I still have no idea what I even want to go to school for next year. Penny says my gap year will turn into two, if I'm not careful.

We’re parked next to each other - my old red Ranger and Penny’s little Toyota. Penny sets her books on her passenger seat before coming over to hug me. “It’ll be _fine_ , Simon. It’s for the best; you’ll see.”

It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Agatha.

I tighten my arms around her. Her hair smells like sage. “I know, Penny,” I say, even though I _don’t._

 

* * *

 

It’s not a long drive home, but I spend the entire time thinking about the bloke at the bookshop anyway.

He’s probably smart; you _have_ to be smart to work in a bookshop, yeah? And it’s not like I’m _not_ smart, but sometimes my words don’t come out right. Sometimes I end up sounding like a fucking numpty. I think about how stupid he probably thinks I am. How embarrassing the whole thing is.

How his hair fell in a lazy wave across his forehead…

I mean, a bloke can think another bloke’s attractive, yeah? Like, you’d have to be blind to look at him and _not_ think he’s attractive.

Right?

By the time I get home, my face is scrunched into what Penelope calls my “thinking face.” I don’t _want_ to think anymore, not really. What I really want is to see if there’s anything good leftover to eat, and then I want to go to bed.

By the time I’m in front of the fridge, I’ve decided to stop thinking at all. About how stupid I sounded. About how rude he probably thought I was. About how he smelled sort of like the woods.

About those eyes.

I heat up some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, scarf it down. Have a shower.

I have a wank before I go to sleep because it helps me relax, and for some reason I come thinking about a pair of pouting lips. They’re full and pink and lovely, and I’m not rightly sure whose they are (if they belong to anyone at all).

I fall asleep as I think about kissing them.

 

**BAZ**

 

Fiona isn't home when I get in, which means she won't be home until morning at the earliest.

I take advantage of the silence, sit at my desk with a package of salt and vinegar crisps and a Coke and try to get some writing done on my essay. I'm still dressed for work; it helps me concentrate.

It usually helps me concentrate.

I've written about a sentence and a half when I push my laptop away. It's nearly midnight, and all I've been able to think on for hours is…

Well.

It's absurd, really, but I can't get Penelope Bunce's idiot friend out of my mind.

Blue eyes.

There wasn't even anything _special_ about them, really. They were just... _blue._

Bronze curls.

I'm weak for a man with curly hair. He had an undercut. (I'm weak for a good undercut, too.)

Thinking about him is a near equal balance of pleasant and infuriating. Maddening. _Embarrassing_. Stupid fucking lisp.

I remind myself that he is, in all likelihood, a _moron._ And _straight._ And I'll probably never see him again, which is probably for the best. I don't need that kind of distraction right now.

I've never had a boyfriend.

I've had crushes, of course. The normal sort you obsess over for a few weeks before moving on. And then one or two of the more... _intense_ variety, the sort of adolescent pining that feels like love until you can look back on it later and see it for what it truly was.

Infatuation.

Bunce's friend is the sort I might be inclined to become infatuated with, if given the chance. Well. If it weren't for his complete and utter stupidity.

I ought to stop thinking about him.

But does it really matter if I do? I'm never going to see him again. Surely I'll have forgotten all this, come the morning.

My mind wanders, and Fiona isn't here, and there's been a pleasant heat pooling in my belly this entire time.

I'm not getting any work done, anyway.

I unbutton my trousers, lower the zip, hitch up my shirt so I can spill on my belly.

I don't usually _think_ of anyone in particular when I do this. I don't usually think of anyone at all. I just get off and have done.

But as my breath gathers speed I can see them – blue eyes, nothing special. Just _blue._

I think, _They could belong to anybody._

I know they don't.

And even as I'm telling myself _not_ to think about him, his lips are at my neck. I know they're his because he had a mole, right to the left of his Cupid's bow. Just a small one.

That's when I know that I need to make certain I never see him again.

That's when I come.

 

**SIMON**

 

My mum's already sat at the table with coffee when I walk into the kitchen.

“Morning, love,” she says. “Sleep well?”

I shrug. I don't know that I _did,_ actually, which is probably why I'm up so late to begin with. It's nearly noon.

“Dunno,” I say, and I pour myself a cup of coffee, too, because I feel _knackered._ I sit down next to her at the table.

“Well, you've certainly slept late. I'd have fixed breakfast but I wasn't sure you were ever getting up.”

“S'alright,” I say. She smiles at me. “How was work?”

“More of the same,” she says, which probably means she doesn’t want to talk about it. She sees some grim things, working at the hospital. She’s a nurse in the A&E. Her eyes are tired today. “How was _your_ day?” she asks. “Any luck with the job hunt?”

I set down my coffee cup. “Didn't really look yesterday.” I try not to feel guilty about it. “Penny and I went out. Just to the little bookshop by Watford. Nothing exciting.” It's then I remember about Agatha. “Agatha broke up with me,” I add.

“Oh, Si,” Mum says, her tired eyes turning sad. They’re blue, just like mine. She reaches out for my hand. “I'm so sorry, love.”

“I'm alright. Really. It's…” What _is_ it, exactly? I don't know. I haven't even thought about Agatha since Penelope and I were at the bookshop last night. “We weren't right for each other,” I say, and _that_ sounds right. That's what it's been all along.

“Well,” Mum says, and she squeezes my hand. “I'm glad you're alright. If you need to talk about it–,”

“I know.” I squeeze her hand, too. “Mostly I just want to move on, yeah?”

Mum nods at me and smiles, her blue eyes soft and comforting. She doesn’t push for more. She knows I’ll come to her if I need to.

 

* * *

 

I spend the afternoon helping my mum around the house – dishes, vacuuming, that sort of thing. I listen to music as I do it, but I don’t really hear the lyrics. If I’m honest, I’m barely listening at all, because my mind keeps drifting. And even as I keep telling myself _not to think_ – something I’m usually quite good at – I can’t help it.

I can’t get the bloke from the bookshop out of my head.

Maybe it’s some weird defense mechanism. Maybe I really _am_ broken up about Agatha and my brain’s trying to protect me by latching on to something else, something completely different.

Black hair instead of blonde. Copper skin instead of pale. Hard lines instead of soft…

But if that’s true, then why does the thought of those hard lines send a thrill through me? The same sort of thrill I got when I first met Agatha, only… _stronger_.

I feel like I need to go back there, to Nico’s. I need to see that bloke again so I can sort out my feelings, because none of this makes any bloody sense and it’s driving me half mad.

I’m going back. Tonight. Hopefully he’ll be there and I can get this sorted. Put him out of my head.

Maybe he’ll even tell me his name.

I'm about to shower when my mobile vibrates in the pocket of my trackie bottoms. It's Penny.

 

 **Penny (5:04 pm):** How’re you feeling, Si?

 **Simon (5:05 pm):** i'm fine pen

 **Simon (5:05 pm):** i told you so yesterday

 **Penny (5:06 pm):** I wanted to be sure.

 **Simon (5:06 pm):** I'm fine. really

 

I'm not, really. But it's not Agatha who's the problem, and I'm not ready to tell Penny about this – whatever _this_ is – not until I understand it better myself.

 

 **Penny (5:07 pm):** Are you free tonight? I got invited to a party and I don’t really want to go. You know me and crowds. But I don’t want to be rude, either.

 **Simon (5:07 pm):** pen

 **Simon (5:07 pm):** why don’t you just...not go

 **Simon (5:08 pm):**???

 **Penny (5:08 pm):** I told you, I don’t want to be rude, Simon.

 **Penny (5:08 pm):** It’s Trixie. You remember Trixie?

 

Of course I remember Trixie; Penny used to room with her in secondary. Drove her half mad. Trixie did Penny, I mean. She was never up to Penny’s standards for organization.

 

 **Simon (5:09 pm):** didn’t even think you liked trixie

 **Penny (5:09 pm):** I like Trixie fine, now that we aren’t roommates.

 **Penny (5:10 pm):** I figured we could show up for a little bit. Maybe an hour. Then maybe we can go to the cinema or something.

 

I sigh. I really wanted to go back to Nico's by myself tonight, and I'm not sure Penny will go back with me without a proper explanation, no matter how much she loves books. I suppose I could say I'd like another scone from the cafe, but I don't know how to explain why I need to check out her classmate at the register.

I guess I could go tomorrow instead, if I have to. It's not like I have anywhere else to be.

 

 **Simon (5:11 pm):** fine. could be fun

 **Penny (5:11 pm):** Lovely. Pick you up round 6:30? We can grab dinner.

 

Well. Maybe a drink or two will do me good. Help me forget.

I take my shower.

 

**BAZ**

 

“We _could_ go to a gay bar,” Niall says.

He and Dev are sat across from me in the booth. We've gone for fish and chips, and somehow we've ended up taking my car even though Dev's the one who planned this little venture.

I raise my eyebrow so high I almost feel it escape up into my hair. “What the _fuck_ would _you_ do at a gay bar?” I reach over and take some of Niall's unfinished chips. “What the fuck would _I_ do at a gay bar?”

Niall rolls his eyes and moves my hand away when I go for his chips again. “You could meet a bloke,” he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Though maybe don't try to nick his food on the first date.”

“We could help,” Dev says.

“And what do you _mean,_ what would you do at a gay bar?” Niall says. “You're _gay,_ aren't you?”

“You seem to have forgotten that I _don't drink,_ ” I say. “Gay _bar._ The operative word being _bar._ Bars are where people go to _drink_ , you useless pair of twits.”

“Is it your mum, still?” Niall says, and Dev flashes him a glance.

I sigh. We were already friends when it happened, of course. Niall and Dev have seen me at my absolute worst. It was a lot to take in for a pair of ten-year-olds, and they didn't have to keep on being my friends, but they did it anyway. (I suppose Dev couldn't have _completely_ rid himself of me, but our interaction could've been limited to curt nods at family gatherings instead.) I'm grateful, I am, and there have been times when I've felt unworthy, too. But I learned that this is what true friends do; they stick by each other even when things get ugly.

“To a point,” I say, because it's not like _not_ drinking will bring my mother back from the dead. It's not like a glass of wine or a shot of vodka is an insult to her memory. I know that, now.

I run my finger along the lip of my glass of half-finished Coke. “I'm not supposed to. With my medication.”

It's taken time, but I've come to terms with having to take medication to be okay. To feel _normal._ And even though I might be able to stop someday, I'm not ready. Not yet.

“Well, we don't want to mess with that,” Dev says. “Still. We need to find you someone.”

I roll my eyes. “ _Why_ are you two so bloody hell-bent on _finding me someone_? Don't you have your own love lives to attend to?”

“I don't need any _help_ with _mine_ ,” Dev says.

“It could be good,” Niall says, and he wipes his hands on a napkin and pushes what’s left of his chips towards me.

I pick up a chip, take a bite, _sigh_. “I don't know that I'm _ready_ for a relationship,” I say.

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Dev says, his mouth full of peas. He shoves in some more.

“Close your mouth,” I say. “Tosser.”

His eyes widen and he gestures to himself as if he can't believe what I've just said. “ _I'm_ the tosser? That's you, mate.” He points his spoon at me. “A good fuck's what you need.”

The only reason I don't reach across the table and hit him is for fear that he'll spit out his food. It'd get all over my fist.

Niall shrugs at me, smiles.

There’s a pool of vinegar on my plate. I use one of Niall’s chips to push it around. “Not all of us feel the need to be constantly on the pull,” I say.

Dev throws up his hands. A remnant of peas goes flying from his spoon. “We're young!” he says. “These are supposed to be the best years of our lives–,”

“According to whom?”

Dev scoffs. “Oh, I don't know, Baz. _Them._ ”

“ _Them_?”

“Who cares who bloody said it. You're wound too tight.” He nudges Niall in the shoulder. “Isn't he?”

Niall shrugs. “Might be. You’ve completely decimated that chip.”

When I look down at my plate, there’s a trail of potato bits soaking up vinegar.

“You’ll get good marks even if you _don’t_ kill yourself trying to do it,” Dev says. “And you don’t have to choose between school and, I don’t know, _love._ If that’s what you’re going for.”

“Don’t you fancy anyone?” Niall says.

I think of Penelope Bunce’s friend, the moronic blue-eyed twit with the cute undercut. I _told_ myself I wouldn’t think about him again, but that hasn’t stopped him from passing through my mind at intervals all bloody day. It’s a bit annoying, really.

“You know how we’re always warned about not giving in to peer pressure?” I say. “You two are the bloody _definition_ of peer pressure.”

Dev looks at Niall. “There was this bloke who came into Nico’s last night.” His eyes flick over to me. “What was it you called him? A fit idiot?”

I roll my eyes before settling them on Niall. “ _This_ idiot thinks himself funny and switched my nametag out –,”

“Oh, were people calling you Tyrannosaurus all night?” Niall says.

Dev laughs. “Not _all_ night. Just the one bloke.” The laugh turns to a giggle. “It never gets old.”

I swirl the last of my Coke around in my glass, listen to the ice clinking. “Debatable.”

“Well,” Niall says. “Did something happen or…?”

“No,” I say. “Just a fit idiot. No point in pursuing it.”

I _don’t_ tell them that I wanked off to the thought of him last night. Twice. And this morning. I suppose I thought that indulging myself might help me _stop thinking about him_. Admittedly not my most logical decision.

“Why not?” Dev says. “You're stable on your meds, yeah?”

“Great opening line, Dev. Spectacular. _Hello, I'm stable on my meds. Could make great boyfriend material._ Christ, fuck _off._ ”

He takes a drink of his Coke, sets the glass back down. “I have to say, they do nothing to make you less of an arsehole.”

Niall glances at Dev and gestures at me with a hand. “Don’t you think he’d want someone intelligent, anyway? If this bloke really _was_ an idiot–,”

“ _Thank you_ , Niall,” I say, “for being the voice of bloody reason.” I sigh. “Besides, he was probably straight, anyway.”

Dev clucks his tongue. “Didn't think of that, honestly.”

I answer by levelling him with a look.

The thought of Bunce’s friend – I haven’t allowed myself to think his name, lest he morph into somebody more real – being straight (and a moron) has been my only saving grace ever since I saw him at my stupid register. There’s no point wasting my energy on someone I have no chance with.

Except my stupid brain keeps wasting my time and energy on him anyway.

I swirl my Coke and ice around some more.

Niall reaches back and fishes his mobile out of the back pocket of his jeans. I think he _blushes_ when he looks at it. He passes it to Dev, who grins like he’s well pleased about something.

“What is it?” I say.

“We’ve been invited to a party,” Dev says as he slides Niall’s mobile back to him.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Trixie,” Niall says. “We’re in maths together, the three of us.”

I glance at Dev. “Let me guess. You’re planning on trying to lure her into bed with you.”

“Nah,” Dev says. “She has a girlfriend.” He furrows his brow. “And I don’t _lure_ anyone –,”

I gesture at the two of them. “So what’s in it for you, then?” I say.

Dev shrugs. “Drinks. Fun. Some people _like_ socializing, you know.” He nudges Niall, who lowers his eyes and blushes some more.

“Socializing _exhausts_ me,” I say.

Dev nudges Niall again.

Niall sighs and rakes a hand through his auburn hair, a nervous gesture he’s made for as long as I’ve known him. “Well. There _is_ a girl, actually. Philippa. She takes maths with us. Trixie says she’ll be there. I, uh…” He blushes _again_ and I understand everything at once. “I wouldn’t mind going –,”

“He _fancies_ her,” Dev clarifies (unnecessarily, I might add). “And _she_ fancies him, I’d bet.” Dev reaches across the table and grips my wrist. “It’s our solemn duty as his friends to bring them together.”

I raise an eyebrow. “ _Our solemn duty_?” I repeat.

Niall looks at me. “We don’t have to,” he says. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable –,”

I shake Dev off of me. “What, because people will be drinking?” These aren’t alcoholics, just university students trying to have a good time. I shrug. “Could be good entertainment.” I finish off my Coke, set down the glass. “We’ll take my car. Someone has to make sure you two get home in one piece.”

Niall lets out a breath and smiles at me.

Dev grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I really wanted Simon to have a truck like this in this fic for some reason, but I've read that pick-ups aren't really a "big" thing in England so forgive me this indulgence.
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/simons%20car_zps16i12dkq.jpg.html)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. [Here's how I picture Dev & Niall.](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/184783922347/dancingwdinosaurs-baz-and-his-boys-left-is-dev) I legit kept forgetting that their appearances are never described in canon because of this art, & I can't picture them any other way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soaltoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) for all your help & encouragement while I wrote this chapter! 💜

**BAZ**

 

Dev and Niall’s friend Trixie has a magenta pixie cut, a nice flat by the university, and a fierce girlfriend called Keris. She also has a firm grip when she shakes my hand.

“Lovely to meet you. Make yourself at home. Niall,” she says, and she loops an arm around his waist. “Philippa’s on her way.”

“Oh, Christ,” Niall says, and he looks from Trixie to Dev to me.

Trixie smiles at him, pats him on the back. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you some liquid courage.” She looks to Dev and me. “Drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourselves, yeah?” Then she leads Niall away from us.

“Fucking hell. Let’s just hope he makes his bloody move tonight,” Dev says. “Watching the two of them in class has been driving me half mad. Good entertainment at first, to be sure, but now it’s gone on too long.”

“Whatever will you do with yourself once he’s got her?” I say as we head towards the kitchen. There’s a decent crowd here already, and Dev smiles and nods at people as we move past.

He flashes me a smile, too. “Well. Then it’s your turn, mate.”

I roll my eyes.

“Thanks for driving,” he says as he lifts a bottle of clear liquor. “Y’don’t mind, do you? I haven’t been properly hammered in months…”

“How awful for you.” I lean against the counter, cross my arms. “As long as you don’t get sick in my car.”

He grins at me. “I’ve got a pretty high tolerance—”

“You don’t need to _prove_ it,” I say. “And I’d appreciate coherent company. I don’t know these people—”

“And socializing _exhausts_ you. Yes, I know.” He grabs a cup and pours himself a decent amount of liquor—vodka, maybe. I don’t rightly know how much alcohol is _a lot_ , but…

Dev pours some juice on top of his vodka. “I’m not going to _abandon_ you. But maybe try to meet some people, yeah? I could introduce you—”

“I don’t _need_ to meet people.”

“You know, _you_ exhaust me,” Dev says, and he takes a sip of the concoction he’s made for himself. “C’mon, let’s go find Niall. We can whisper sweet nothings in his ear so he knows what to say.” He glances at me. “Or I guess I’ll do the whispering–,”

“You’re a twat, did you know that?”

Dev chuckles into his drink. “There are worse things to be.”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Niall doesn’t need our help with Philippa.

He introduces me briefly—she seems very nice, if not rather plain—before whisking her off, presumably to the kitchen for a drink. More _liquid courage._

The next time we see them, they’re snogging on the sofa.

“Should we...move them?” I ask Dev. It’s a rather public place to just be going at it the way they are; I don’t think it’s something Niall would do sober.

“Nah,” Dev says, and he takes out his mobile. “All in good fun, mate.”

“The fuck are you doing?” I whisper.

“Taking a photo?”

Dev’s already had another vodka and juice concoction. I’m not sure _how_ pissed he is, but he keeps giggling at things that aren’t particularly funny and slinging his arm around me. He also keeps introducing me as “My cousin Baz. He’s _single._ ” Fucking twat. A well-meaning twat, but a twat all the same.

I move his mobile so it isn’t pointed at Niall and Philippa. “ _Don’t_.”

He rolls his eyes and pockets it. _“Fine.”_

I look around until I find the door to the veranda. “I need a smoke,” I say.

_"Baz —_”

“Yes, it'll kill me.” The truth is I don't smoke on a daily basis. I only do it when I'm in a particularly uncomfortable situation, so I pocketed the emergency pack I keep in my car in anticipation of this party. “You coming or not?”

Dev rolls his eyes. “Fine. Let me fill up first, yeah?”

 

**SIMON**

 

The party’s in full swing when Penelope and I get here.

There’s a few people I recognize – Trixie and her girlfriend Keris, of course. Rhys and Gareth from secondary. Everyone else must be Trixie’s friends from uni.

Trixie hugs me, even though we were never on hugging terms before. (I don’t think.) “Drinks in the kitchen. Help yourselves!” she says.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Penny whispers as we head towards the kitchen. There’s a couple on the sofa—a bloke with auburn hair and a brunette girl—snogging like their lives depend on it. It makes me sad for some reason, but I’m not sure why. I guess it's just been a while since I've kissed anyone. They seem happy, at least.

“You having something?” I ask Penny as she eyes the liquor bottles.

“Eh. Might as well. Just one, though.” She takes a cup and pours in a small measure of vodka. “Just seeing all these people makes me tired.”

I grab a cup of my own and fill it with ice. I’m not sure what kind of drink I want. “Some people here I haven’t seen in a while. Rhys. Gareth.”

“Mm.” Penny’s always said that knowing too many people exhausts her. I’m her only _really_ close friend (to be fair, she’s mine, too). She says she doesn’t like mindless small talk. I don’t know; I don’t really mind that sort of thing. I like having people to say hello to, even if that’s all we say.

Ah, there’s rum. I pour some into my cup and top it off with Coke. Penny takes a sip of her drink, and I wonder if she’ll get more sociable as her cup starts to empty. Possibly.

I taste my drink and scrunch my nose. Needs more Coke.

“You really feeling okay?” Penny says. Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before she brought this up again.

_She means well,_ I remind myself.

“Pen. For the millionth time, _yes_.” I add more Coke to my cup. “You were right. It _is_ for the best. _Please_ just drop it.”

She furrows her brow, takes another sip. “Alright.” She leans back against the counter. “You never know; maybe you’ll meet someone new tonight.”

_I don’t_ want _to meet someone new._ I think it before I even realize what it means. That I _have_ met someone already; I just need to get to know him better.

_Have_ I met somebody?

Does this…does this whole thing mean I’m…?

I push the thought away. Penny’s right; maybe Trixie and Keris know a nice girl I could meet. Maybe someone who isn’t blonde. Maybe someone I have more in common with.

Maybe someone with pouty lips.

That seems like it’d be nice for some reason.

“Si?”

I realize I’ve probably been staring off at nothing for a good while now. “I dunno. Don’t they always say you’ll find love where you least expect it…or something?”

“Who says that?”

“I dunno. _Them._ ”

“Right, Simon. _Them._ ” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, I suppose you’re right. And you don’t _have_ to have someone to be happy, anyway; that's not what I meant.” She shrugs. “I guess you just never really know.”

“Right…”

Penelope had it easy when it comes to love, I think. She and Micah hit it off right away a few years ago, and they’ve made it work, even with him in America. He'll move here soon, I think, once he's finished with his Bachelor's. It won't take long; he's just as smart as Penny and moving through his courses quickly from what she tells me.

They just fit. They're like two pieces of a puzzle.

I guess Penny wasn't looking for love, either, when she met Micah.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she says. “I'm not really one for parties, you know.”

“No problem,” I say. (I don't think anyone would've thought her rude for not coming, but I'm getting free rum and Coke out of this so I'm not complaining.)

I peer out across the crowded lounge. The couple on the sofa has stopped snogging, at least for now. They're smiling. Laughing. Blushing, I think. It looks nice. “Think I'll catch up with Rhys and Gareth,” I say once I've spotted them.

“Hold this for me, would you? I need the loo.” Penny hands me her drink. “Go on; I'll find you,” she says, and she heads off in search of the bathroom.

When I look back out, Rhys and Gareth have moved. There's a lot of people here; Trixie and Keris must have a lot of friends. Or maybe all their friends brought friends.

I move carefully through the crowd of people—the last thing I want to do is spill all over the carpet—smiling and nodding as I go. Everyone seems friendly; they smile and nod right back.

There's the sound of a sliding door opening and closing. I glance in its direction, because maybe Rhys and Gareth are headed outside, but it isn't them.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Tyrannosaurus is walking in from the veranda. He’s talking with another bloke with black hair and tanned skin. They’re laughing about something, and I can’t help but feel a roiling in my gut—jealousy? Am I _jealous_ ? Of _what_? No…

Right?

I’m still watching them when those grey eyes meet mine. The smile on his face falls as soon as he sees me. Fucking _fuck._ My cheeks start heating up at the memory of last night, of making a complete arse of myself. His eyes flick away from mine almost as soon as they met them, his mouth turning down into a pout.

_Oh._

Oh my God.

Oh my _God._

I nearly drop the drinks in my hands.

His mouth. His lips. His fucking _pout._

I think even my forehead is blushing right now. At least all my blood’s in my face.

 

**BAZ**

 

“He’s fucking here,” I tell Dev, because I’ve bloody well just spotted Bunce’s friend from across a crowded room.

How very banally _romantic._

“What?” Dev says, looking around as if he knows what he’s looking for.

I look back up and find that Bunce’s friend has gone. Good.

I take Dev by the arm and lean in to whisper, “The fit idiot. He’s _here._ ”

Dev looks confused. Or drunk; I can’t tell which. “So?” he says.

I make to go back outside but Dev grabs my arm.

“You don't need another,” he says, and I wonder when he got the idea that he has any authority over my self-destructive habits.

I scoff and shake him off of me. “Right. And how many drinks have _you_ had since we've been here?”

“Why're you freaking out?” he says, too loudly.

“I am _not._ ”

He raises an eyebrow at me.

That's when Niall bowls into him. He's grinning ear to ear, his lips swollen. I silently thank him for the distraction.

“It's our little lady killer!” Dev says, slapping Niall on the back. Niall lurches forward and snorts. Clearly still off his trolley, then.

“We're leaving, Philippa and me,” he says.

“ _What_?” I say, because she's probably not much better off than he is right now.

“Don’t worry, Baz; sh’lives in the building. Hop, skip, and a jump—” He snorts again and giggles to himself. Christ, I'm glad I don't drink. He's making a complete tit of himself. His eyes focus on me (as much as they can). “Whassyour problem?”

“Baz's fit idiot is here—”

“ _Dev —_” I say, my teeth clenched. Complete tits, the both of them.

“Really?” Niall looks about. “Where?”

“It doesn't _matter_.” It comes out in a hiss.

“D'you need me t’stay?” Niall asks. “I can, y’know. If y’need help—”

“I don't _need help_ ,” I say, and then I sigh because maybe I _am_ blowing this out of proportion, and seeing my friends flinch never _actually_ makes me happy. “I'm happy for you,” I tell Niall, and his face lights up with a grin.

Niall steps forward and pulls me into a hug. He smells like alcohol and fruity perfume. “S'good to see you, mate.” He claps my back and pulls away. “Don't be a stranger, yeah?”

Dev high-fives him and pulls him into a clumsy one-handed hug/back-clap, then Niall heads off towards the room where we all left our coats when we got here.

“Don't forget to wrap it up!” Dev calls after him. I slap him upside the head.

 

**SIMON**

 

I nearly run into Penny outside the bathroom. “ _Shit_ ,” I mutter as our drinks slosh over the sides of our cups, a few droplets falling to the floor.

“Jesus, Simon!” Penny says, and she turns back into the bathroom to grab some toilet paper.

“Sorry,” I say as she kneels in front of me and dabs at the carpet. “Sorry…”

“I thought you were going to find Rhys and Gareth?” she says as she stands back up. She dips into the bathroom to throw the bit of paper into the bin.

Well I _was,_ wasn’t I? And then I saw…

Fucking _hell._

“Couldn’t find them,” I say, which isn’t _technically_ a lie.

She takes her drink from me. “Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. I take a sip of my drink too, just for something to do with my mouth, and also maybe to help me calm down because _fuck._

Bookshop bloke—Tyrannosaurus—whatever the _fuck_ his actual name is—he's…

He's…

He's fit as hell, why am I kidding myself?

_This_ is a new development isn't it?

_Isn't_ it?

I rub the back of my neck, try to think of _any other time_ I've ever been attracted to a bloke—because that _is_ what this is, there's no denying it—and I think maybe it's not such a new development at all. Maybe I just wasn't paying close enough attention.

Fuck, do I even _know_ myself?

“Simon? Hello?” Penny's looking at me like she's mildly concerned. Or mildly annoyed.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to go look for them? Rhys and Gareth?”

“Oh,” I say. Looking for Rhys and Gareth means going back out into the main room. Probably seeing my bookshop bloke. (Christ _, my_ bookshop bloke?) I'm not sure what's stronger – the wanting to see him again or the wanting to hide from him since he clearly thinks I'm an idiot.

I take another sip of my drink. “Yeah, alright,” I say, and we make our way towards the crowd of people in the lounge. I can’t tell if it’s my hand or my cup sweating, but it’s uncomfortable and wet and I move my drink to my other hand so I can wipe the damp one off on my jeans.

Should I tell Penny he’s here? She’d want to talk to him, wouldn’t she? Fuck, I don’t think I’m ready for that.

Maybe they aren’t actually friends. Maybe she was just being nice last night because they’re in class together. _I don’t want to be rude, Simon._ Fuck, she’s going to want to talk to him.

What would I _say_?

Word vomit, probably.

“Simon?”

I look over at Penny. She’s giving me that look again. “Hm?”

She points her thumb to her right. “Rhys. Gareth.”

And there they are, stood over by a wall with their drinks. Trixie and Keris are with them, too, and they’re all laughing about something.

“Right,” I say, and we join them.

I _try_ to be in the moment – it’s nice to see old friends, to catch up and tell embarrassing stories about secondary – but my eyes keep wandering across the room. I even awkwardly take Gareth’s place when he goes off to the loo just so I can have a better vantage point. That’s when I finally spot him again, my bookshop bloke.

_My_ bookshop bloke. The thought warms my stomach. (I try to think it’s the rum at first, but I know damn well it isn’t and he’s just so bloody _nice_ to look at.)

He’s taller than me. Thinner, too, but not in a lanky way. I can tell he’s got nice muscle tone even through all his clothes. (I blush when I think about what’s under his clothes, and empty my cup.) He’s wearing jeans, too, but they’re much nicer than anything I’ve ever worn. (I’m not sure how I can tell; I just _can_.) And the way his jumper hits him in all the right places, all those hard lines...

I like everything about the way he looks right now.

I _don’t_ like that he’s still with that other black-haired bloke. The smiley one who looks like he’s constantly got some sort of scheme up his sleeve.

I wonder if they’re together.

I wonder if—

Grey eyes catch mine and I look away. _Fuck._ He probably thinks I’m an idiot _and_ a weirdo, for just staring at him from across a crowded room.

Someone elbows me in the ribs.

“You even on the Earth, mate?” Rhys says.

I'm glad the lights are dim, because I can feel my face heating up. “Sorry,” I say with a nervous chuckle. Fuck, I'm _chuckling._

Rhys gestures to my cup. “I want whatever you had.”

I chuckle some more. “S'just rum and Coke,” I say, even though I know he didn't actually need to know. He waggles his eyebrows at me and elbows me in the ribs again.

Penny's looking at me like she _knows_ something's up, and that she's trying to puzzle it out. I'll have to talk to her about it later. I just shrug at her for now.

When I look back up at my bookshop bloke, he's already looking away.

 

**BAZ**

 

If I catch Bunce's fit idiot friend staring at me one more time, I'm going to bloody explode.

He's completely ruining my enjoyment of staring at _him._

I don't know what he's playing at, but he's working me into a strop and I don't like it. I just want to enjoy the view in _peace_ , for Christ's sake.

Bunce is with him, of course, and I'd consider going over there just to fuck with him if I didn't think my lisp would make an immediate appearance. Or that I'd forget to breathe.

He’s absolutely stunning, even just stood there in a shirt and jeans. A _rumpled_ shirt, I might add. He’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and even from this distance I can tell his forearms are lovely.

I can’t remember the last time I focused on a bloke’s _forearms,_ for Christ’s sake.

My stomach lurches as I think about those arms, the way they’d look on either side of me as he held himself up above me, the way his muscles would move beneath his tawny skin.

I don’t know why I’m torturing myself like this.

_He’s straight,_ I think, _and a_ moron.

He’s nice to look at, if nothing else.

“ _Baz_ ,” Dev says, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get my attention.

“ _What._ ”

“I need a piss.”

I look at him and raise an eyebrow. “Thank you for keeping me informed.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be right back, yeah?” Then he walks off, pushing through the crowd towards the bathroom.

When I look back up, Bunce’s friend is staring at me again.

“Pardon me for a moment,” I say to the group of people Dev and I have been chatting with, and I duck out of our circle. (Dev’s done most of the chatting; they won’t miss me, surely.)

We’re pretty close to the door to the veranda, so it isn’t necessary for me to wade through a crowd of people. Thank _fuck_ for that, because I’ve had quite enough socializing for one night.

I close the door behind me and step out into the November air. It’s warm inside with all the bodies, so I’m not too cold yet (I’ve a poor tolerance for cold on any day, and I’m normally bundled up during the winter months). I light up a cigarette, take a drag. The coolness of the railing seeps through the fabric of my jumper as I lean my forearms against it. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. The air very nearly burns in my lungs.

I’m just thinking of another pair of forearms, covered in freckles and a constellation of moles—did he _have_ moles on his arms? Surely he does—when I hear the sliding door open behind me. Dev back from his piss, probably, though I must say I’m surprised he’s come after me. He seemed to be hitting it off with one of the girls we were talking with before I came out here.

“Have a nice piss?” I say, almost at the same time someone else says, “Um. Hello?”

_That’s_ not Dev.

My breath catches, my muscles tensing. Fucking _fuck._

I turn around to find Bunce’s stupidly gorgeous idiot of a friend stood in front of the sliding door, his hands shoved down into the pockets of his jeans. Fucking hell, this is just my luck. I’ve no idea what he could possibly want from me; maybe he’s come to poke fun at my name some more.

He gestures at my cigarette with his elbow, his hand still bulging in his pocket. “That’s bad for you, y’know.”

I raise an eyebrow and take a long drag, exhale the smoke. “And?”

He looks rather flustered. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and I bloody well hate it. “Well, it’s.” His breath turns to mist in the winter air. “Um. I dunno.”

I just blink at him.

He takes one of his hands out of his pocket and starts worrying at the back of his neck. I watch as his forearm flexes with the movement of his fingers. (He _does_ have a few moles on his arm.) “Look, um. I just wanted to say I wasn’t making fun of you yesterday. You know. About your name? I’ve got dyslexia, yeah? And. Well I knew it was stupid as soon as I said it. So. I just wanted you to know. That.”

I don't know what's happening here. I take another drag off my cigarette while I decide what to say. He's watching my mouth. Or maybe I'm imagining it.

I stub out the fag on the railing and pocket the butt. (I don't litter.) “You know, you’re _right_ ,” I say. “It _was_ stupid.”

He recoils like I've slapped him. Fuck, I don't know why I said that. Well. Can't take it back now.

“Well,” he says. “I just. Wanted to say sorry, so. Sorry.”

That's when Dev comes out onto the veranda. Perfect fucking timing. “Baz!” he says, entirely too loudly. He comes up next to me and slings an arm around my shoulders. “Been looking for you.”

Bunce's friend— _Simon,_ fuck it all—looks at Dev like he's slightly disappointed about something.

Dev's just now noticed him, it seems. “This the fit idiot who called you Tyrannosaurus?” he says.

I look at Dev in what I can only imagine looks like complete outrage. Or horrified embarrassment. Or all of the above. It seems like all the blood I have in me is rushing to my cheeks.

I flick my eyes from Dev to Simon, swallow. I can't trust myself to speak right now. I can practically feel my traitorous lisp waiting in my mouth.

Simon's brow is furrowed at me. “Fit idiot?” he repeats.

“My friend is,” _fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck it all._

“Y'alright?” Dev says. “You're lisping.”

“Oh, fuck _you,_ Dev,” I say, and I rip myself away from him, push past Simon, make my way through all the drunk idiots at the party, and just keep walking until I make it back outside.

I glance at my car and sigh. I'd leave if I were a complete arsehole.

I sit on the kerb instead, my hands shaking as I pull another fag from my jacket pocket.

 

**SIMON**

 

_Baz._

His name is Baz.

 

**BAZ**

 

I'm halfway through my cigarette when Dev sits next to me, folds his hands between his knees, nudges me.

I don't say anything; just exhale the smoke from my lungs and hope he chokes on it.

“Baz—”

“You realize you just outed me to a stranger, yes?” I say, even though I don't think that's what I'm actually upset about. It's not like I purposely keep my sexuality a secret.

“He tried to come after you, you know. I told him not to.”

“And your point is…?”

“Fuck, Baz. I'm _sorry._ I'm _drunk—_ ”

It seems everybody's trying to apologize to me tonight. “People do stupid things when they drink,” I say, flicking my ash onto the pavement. I haven't looked at him since he sat down. “ _Obviously._ ”

My cigarette is gone before either of us says anything else.

“He's been sneaking glances at you all night,” Dev says.

“And?”

“Well, fuck. People don't usually just _stare_ at other people if they aren't interested—”

“And I made a complete arse of myself in front of him. So it doesn't matter. I'd rather just forget.”

Dev lets out a frustrated scoff. “You asked why I'm so...what? _Hell-bent_ on finding you someone. Why the fuck are _you_ so hell-bent on avoiding it?”

“Because I don't need the distraction—”

“That's bullshit.”

I raise my eyebrows but don't look at him.

He's quiet for a moment before he says, “You don't think you deserve it, is that it?”

I look at him—finally—but I don't say anything.

“ _Why_?” Dev says.

I don't rightly know myself. Probably it's one of those false beliefs all my therapists were always talking about.

I don't say anything, just stare at the pavement and rub my hands together. It's bloody cold out here, and my coat's still inside. I wish it weren't. I wish we could just _go._

Bunce's friend— _Simon—_ sought me out to apologize, and all I could do was be a dick. It's no bloody wonder I've never had a boyfriend. I  _am_ a complete _arsehole._

“Fine, don't tell me,” Dev says. “But it's bollocks, alright?” He stands up and holds his hand out to help me up. “Let's go get our coats and get out of here, yeah?”

I stand up on my own.

 

**SIMON**

 

When I get back inside, Penelope's waiting for me on the sofa.

“What were you doing?” she says.

I took my chance when I saw that black-haired bloke—Dev, I guess—finally leave my bookshop bloke— _Baz_ , I remind myself; I _like_ that—alone for more than two minutes. I told Penny I'd be right back, but I probably confused the hell out of her.

“Your friend from the bookshop,” I say, and I plop down next to her. “I wanted to apologize to him. For yesterday.”

“To Baz?” she says, and I really don't know why the fuck I didn't just ask her for his name in the first place. It's got to be a nickname, in any case. (I like it.) “About…?”

"Yesterday, you know. I called him Tyrannosaurus.” I feel stupid even admitting it out loud. _Again._ And _he_ thinks I'm stupid, too. And also fit, apparently.

Penny looks confused. “I just saw him basically stomp through here—dignified as per usual, of course; not sure how he manages it—but I hadn't even noticed he was here.”

“Probably you've been thinking about leaving ever since we got here, yeah?”

Penny tips her head and purses her lips in an _oh, that makes sense_ sort of gesture.

“I feel like a complete tit,” I say, running a hand roughly through my hair.

Penny reaches up and grabs my wrist. “You're going to pull your hair out, Simon.”

I look around the room. No sign of bookshop bloke. Of _Baz._

“Look, can we go?” I say. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Just the two of us,” I say.

“Everything alright—?”

“ _Yes,_ just. It's important.”

 

* * *

 

I’m rifling through the pile of coats in the guest bedroom when I smell smoke.

“Oh, fucking hell,” I hear. I turn around to see bookshop bloke— _Baz—_ standing in the doorway.

“Oh,” I say. “Um. Hi again?” _Fuck_ , I can already feel my face heating up. I can feel my _ears_ blushing.

He doesn’t say anything, just steps forward and starts tossing jackets aside.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “You, um…leaving?” There’s a blush across his cheeks—I’ve stopped looking for coats to look at him instead—but I suppose he was just outside. Probably just from the cold.

It’s still one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.

“Me too,” I say, even though he hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t even looked at me. His teeth are clenched; I can see his jaw muscle quivering.

“Penny brought me along, y’know,” I say. “She, um—”

His head snaps towards me. “ _What’re you playing at_?”

“Um.” Fucking _fuck_ , he probably thinks I’m getting stupider every time he talks to me. “Just…talking. Sorry.”

He sighs and goes back to looking for his coat.

“What does it look like?” I say as I start rifling through the pile again.

A few moments pass, and I almost think he's not going to answer. “Black. Wool. Burberry.”

I don't know what the fuck _burberry_ means, but I'm not about to ask. He'll just think I'm more of an idiot than he already does.

He nods towards a chair and desk in the corner of the room. “It _was_ on that chair. Probably some drunk moron fucked with it. Or stole it.”

I find my grey duffle coat and Penny's purple peacoat—finally—and set them aside.

“I doubt anyone stole it,” I say, and I keep looking. Black. Wool. _Burberry._ “Everyone here seems pretty nice. I was in secondary with a lot of them. They wouldn't do something like that–,”

“You trust people easily, don't you?” he says, picking up a navy blue coat and throwing it to the floor. I'm just thinking that's sort of rude, but then he nods at it and says, “It's my cousin's. He's a twat.”

I suppose that's all the explanation I'm getting.

Cousin. _Cousin._ That must be that Dev bloke.

That's good to hear, unless there’s some _Game of Thrones_ bullshit going on.

“Um,” I say, because I want to keep talking to him, but I've just spotted a bit of black at the bottom of the pile and I know he'll leave if I give it to him. Still, he's probably worried.

I push the pile off to the side and pull out the black coat. The tag on the inside reads _Burberry._ Oh.

He's looking at me when I hold it out for him, and his eyes are so pretty that I have to look away. Probably he can hear my heart thumping in my chest. I look at his lips instead and immediately regret it.

“Um,” I say again, and his hand brushes against mine when he takes his coat from me. I don't want to let go, but I do. “I'm, uh. I'm Simon,” I say.

Baz slips into his coat—I've never seen someone put on a coat so gracefully—and bends to pick up the one he threw on the floor. He doesn't say anything, just starts towards the doorway.

Fuck.

“And, uh. I meant it,” I say, and he stops, his back still to me. “What I said. I'm sorry—”

“It's Baz,” he says over his shoulder. And then he's gone.

_Baz._

 

* * *

 

Penelope and I sit in silence as she drives us to mine.

I think she’s worried about me even though I told her not to be. I also told her I didn’t want to talk about this until we’re alone in my house. Preferably with tea and biscuits.

The more I think about it, the more I'm not so sure I _actually_ want to talk about it at all.

I'm attracted to a bloke. Stranger things have happened, I guess, but where do I even _go_ from here?

We talk about other things while I put the kettle on—the party, our friends, my job search, what Penny and Micah talked about on their video chat this morning. Mum’s working, but I make a full pot in case she wants any when she gets home later. My hand shakes a little as I fill two mugs with tea.

We’re sat on the sofa when Penny finally brings it up. “Okay, Simon. What’s going on? You’re making me nervous.”

I blow on my tea but it burns my tongue anyway when I take a sip. Penny’s watching me like the anticipation’s about to kill her.

I don’t really know _how_ to say this, so I just say it. “Is it gay to think another bloke’s attractive?”

Penny looks surprised; I doubt _this_ is what she was expecting. “Simon. Are you _stupid_?”

Well. _Yes_ , according to the bloke in question. I try not to think about that part.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It's a no,” she says. “I think other women are attractive all the time. That doesn’t mean I want to marry them. Or sleep with them. Or kiss them. They're just _pretty_.”

“Oh.” I think about kissing him, the bloke from the bookshop— _B_ _az_. I don't know why I do it. It doesn't matter _why,_ I guess; I've got butterflies no matter the reason.

I'm pretty sure _that's_ gay.

“Um. What if, _hypothetically_ , a bloke wanted to _kiss_ another bloke? What about then?”

Penelope looks at me like I've just sprouted wings and a tail. “Well,” she says, “ _t_ _hat_ would be gay, Simon. Or I guess it would depend on the bloke.”

“Which bloke?”

She rolls her eyes. “The one who wants to do the kissing,” she says. “Maybe he's gay. Maybe he's bi. Maybe he's something else, I don't know. Where's this coming from, anyway?”

“Uh.” I lean forward and set my tea down on the coffee table.

Penny’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. “You trying to tell me something?”

I think about lying to her, but my face is heating up and she'll be able to see right through me. “I.” I pull my bottom lip into my mouth. “I'm.” Fuck, what am I saying? I feel like I'm in bloody speech class, like when I was a kid.

Penny says, “You're…?”

I close my eyes and drop my face into my hands so I don't have to look at her. “It's your friend,” I mumble into my palms.

“I can't hear you when you're mumbling like that, Simon.”

Fuck, I can _feel_ how hot my face is in my hands. I sigh and look at her again. “It's your friend,” I say again, then I look at the ceiling. Anywhere but her. “Jesus _Christ_.”

“I don't know a Jesus,” she says— _smugly—_ and I shove her in the shoulder. “You look like a tomato.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say, and I drop my face into my hands again.

Penny sets her tea down too and I feel her hand on my back. “You serious?”

I scrub my face with my hands before I slump back into the sofa and stare at the ceiling again. “I've been trying to figure it out since I first saw him yesterday. I was going to go back there, to the shop, you know. To see if I still felt it. Whatever it was. And then you asked me to go out, and. Well.” I sigh. “What do I do?”

“I don't know, Si,” Penny says. She sounds concerned. “Are you—”

“I'm not _upset_ about it, if that's what you're asking,” I say, and it's _true._ “I just. I don't know what to do _now_. _"_

Penny's quiet for a moment, then she says, “Well...If you're _interested_...I'm pretty sure he's gay.”

I snap my head towards her. “How d'you know?” Well. His friend _did_ say he called me a fit idiot.

“Just something he said to me yesterday,” Penny says. “About a paper he’s writing for class.”

“Fucking hell. I never should've taken a year off, should I?”

Penelope rolls her eyes at me. At least I think she does; it's hard to tell with her glasses sometimes. “All because of a bloke? You wouldn't even be in our class, would you? I can’t imagine you taking a fancy to Classic Lit.”

I snap my fingers and point at her. “That’s _it_.”

“ _What’s_ it?”

I sit up and turn to face her. “You have class with him.”

“Yes?”

“You can _talk_ to him. You know. For me.”

“About _what_ ? You don’t even _know_ him.”

“Exactly! But I want to, yeah? You could, I dunno...find out if he wants to know me too.”

Penny sighs. “Simon. _I_ barely know him. We’re just in the same class—”

“Well, what’s he like, then? Like. What _do_ you know?”

Penny looks like she's trying to remember something. “Well. He’s a sarcastic arsehole, for one. He lives with his aunt, I think. He comes from money; I didn’t even know he had a job. Probably just wanted something to do.”

_Sarcastic arsehole._ “Okay, so that’s like, two things I didn’t know. That's progress, innit?”

“ _Simon_ ,” Penny says, and she sighs _again._ “I don’t really want to be caught up in the middle of this. Not _again—_ ”

“This is different.”

“How so? You had me bothering Agatha about how she felt about you, too—”

“Look, it’s. Well. You don’t need to do, like, _a lot._ Just maybe, I dunno…bring me up and see what he says? I'll do the rest myself, yeah?”

Penny lets out a frustrated whine and looks up at the ceiling. It makes me grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about Dev trying to photograph Niall & Philippa mid-snog:
> 
> There's totally a picture of 20-year-old me & Mr Honeyed Hufflepuff drunk-snogging on a couch floating around out there in cyberspace somewhere. #inspiration


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thank yous in the world to my lovely betas/partners in crime/fellow enablers, [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast)
> 
> Gratuitous use of the word fuck ahead; Simon & I both have an odd fondness for it.

**SIMON**

 

I think about waiting to tell my mum about all this until _after_ Penelope talks to Baz, but then I realize the whole liking blokes thing probably won’t go away no matter what Baz thinks of me.

Mum’s tired again when I see her the afternoon after Trixie’s party.

“Rough night again?” I say as I sit down with her on the sofa.

“Mm,” she says, and she nods once before she takes a sip of tea. She must’ve already had her coffee, then.

Maybe I shouldn’t bother her with this. I mean, she deals with things at work that are much more important, yeah? But I guess this _is_ important, and she's always told me to come to her with anything, and I’ve never once heard her say anything bad about blokes who like other blokes.

I’m still nervous about it, though.

“Um. Mum? Can I talk to you about something?”

Her eyes look more alive as soon as I’ve said it. “Is everything alright, love?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. S’nothing bad. Just. Something important, yeah?”

She sets her tea down on the coffee table and turns to face me. It makes me a little more nervous. “What is it?”

“Um.” I rub at the back of my neck above my t-shirt. I’m still in my pyjamas. (So is she.) “Well, it’s.”

Mum’s just watching me patiently. That’s how it’s always been, ever since I was a kid. When I’d have trouble finding what to say, other people always said, “ _Use your words, Simon_.” Mum never did. She never does.

She reaches out and takes my hand instead, the one I’m using on my neck, pulling gently until our hands are clasped between us. Her eyes are soft, and open, and waiting.

I take a deep breath and sigh it out. “Mum, I.” Oh, to hell with it. I just spit it out. “Mum, I like blokes. I think. Well. Just one bloke, for now. But. Just.”

Her hand squeezes mine, and I just focus on how warm her palm is while I take another breath.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I say. “But I wanted you to know.”

Mum smiles softly at me. “Simon,” she says, and she looks from my eyes to our hands to my eyes again. “It’s alright, you know.”

I let out a huge breath. “Yeah,” I say, and I smile back at her. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

Mum grins so wide the corner of her blue eyes crinkle. She squeezes my hand again and lets go, takes a sip of her tea. “So,” she says, setting her mug back down on the table. “Let’s hear about this bloke of yours.”

I grin back at her.

 

* * *

 

 **Simon (8:28 am):** you have class today yeah?

 **Penny (8:35 am):** Simon.

 **Penny (8:35 am):** My answer hasn't changed in the last 48 hours.

 

Penny's been a tad irritated with me the last few days. I suppose that's fair, but I can't help asking. I'm too far gone, which is honestly ridiculous. I've seen the bloke _twice_ , for Christ's sake.

 

 **Simon (8:36 am):** so

 **Simon (8:36 am):** what time’s class then?

 **Penny (8:37am):** If you don’t quit asking, I’m not going to tell him anything.

 **Simon (8:37 am):** PENNY

 **Simon (8:37 am):** come on pen

 **Penny (8:38 am):** Simon.

 **Penny (8:38 am):** I need you to breathe.

 **Penny (8:38 am):** Class isn’t until the afternoon anyway. Please stop asking, or I’m going to have to lower your quota.

 

I groan. To myself. In the middle of my bedroom. (I’ve been pacing.)

Yesterday Penny decided that I’ve been talking so much about Baz that I’m only allowed to mention him in up to 15% of our conversations from now on.

“ _How the fuck am I supposed to even calculate that?_ ” I said.

Penny just shrugged at me. “ _Not my problem, Simon._ ”

I can’t _help_ talking about him, just like I can’t help thinking about him.

 

 **Simon (8:40 am):** just

 **Simon (8:40 am):** just let me know as soon as you know, yeah?

 **Penny (8:41 am):** Yes, Simon. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually want you to suffer.

 **Penny (8:41 am):** I have to go; my other class is about to start.

 

I sigh and set my mobile down on my bedside table.

It’s going to be a long bloody day.

 

**BAZ**

 

I was starting to pretend that I'd almost gotten over Penelope Bunce's half-wit friend, but then she practically cornered me in class and now he's clumsily running circles around my stupid mind again.

She made a point to chastise me for not saying hello to her at the party before she bared all.

Well, she gave me a piece of paper and told me to read it later. And I have, multiple times over.

_Look, Basil. I'll be frank. Simon wants to get to know you, and I told him I'd talk to you about it to see if you're interested. He's a good bloke; do you like blokes? That's sort of a personal question but I suppose it's important in this context. Anyway. Just let me know so I can get him off my case. Text me?_

And then she left her mobile number.

And I don't know what to do.

It’s tempting, I’ll give her that, but part of me wonders if this isn’t some elaborate joke. The whole thing's too bloody good to be true, isn't it? Simon's presumed straightness was my only saving grace, and now what do I have?

Besides, Simon doesn’t actually want to get to know me. If he _actually_ got to know me, he’d see what an absolute disaster I am. I don’t rightly know what I did to make him want to know me, anyway. All I showed him was rudeness. My stupid lisp. General arseholery.

Maybe he’s some sort of masochist. Maybe he _liked_ that I was mean to him.

I don’t know why I was mean to him.

Yes I do.

Putting up walls is easier than being vulnerable, that’s why. You set yourself up to lose things when you’re vulnerable.

All I ever do is lose.

I’m sat here on the sofa with this blasted piece of paper in one hand and my mobile in the other and I finally give in and add Bunce’s number to my contacts because I’m _weak._

I don’t text her, not yet. Just because her number’s in my mobile doesn’t mean I have to use it.

I don’t know what I would even send. _Yes, hello, Bunce. I do indeed fancy blokes. Just the other night I came to the thought of your friend’s lips at my neck. I suppose you could say I’m_ interested. _Tell him that and gauge his interest for me, would you? Also, I’m a fucking disaster, but I’m stable on my meds, so that’s a plus._

I catch myself chewing at the skin around my fingers when I accidentally draw blood.

It’s one of the only things I can’t seem to stop doing, even with the medication. The knuckles of my thumbs and forefingers are calloused from years of it, rough and worn, and sometimes I chew so much my cuticles tear. It was one of the first tell-tale signs, an obsessive habit I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I say, and I grab a tissue from the coffee table to staunch the bleeding. I don’t particularly _like_ blood, even if it’s just a little.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, boyo?”

Fiona's just come out of her room. Finally. Apparently I didn't hear her padding around, which is actually a little disturbing. I'm usually hyper-aware at the least.

She comes over and plops down next to me. She's still in her pyjamas.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “It's nearly three,” I say, then I lift my tissue and glance at my finger. A small bit of blood wells so I cover it up.

“Late night,” she says.

“Mm.”

She knocks my knee with hers and gestures at my piece of paper on the coffee table. “What've you got there?”

“Oh, that's-,” and I start to lunge but I'm too late.

Fuck, I'm never going to hear the end of this.

Fiona reads Bunce's note out loud, as if I don't know the words by memory at this point.

“Basil,” Fiona says, and she crumples the paper in her hand as she socks me in the arm with her fist. “You’ve met a bloke! And you didn’t say anything, you knob!”

“I’ve _not_ ,” I say, and I resist the urge to reach out and take my piece of paper back from her.

Fiona gives me an incredulous stare. “Right. So this–,” she opens the paper and glances at it, “– _Simon_ and his friend have mistaken you for someone else, have they? I’ve not seen many other tall, dark, and brooding types ‘round town, have you?”

I sigh and look at my finger again. The bleeding’s stopped, at least. I crumple the tissue in my fist.

Fiona knocks my knee with hers again. “He fit?”

There’s no point in lying. “Exceedingly,” I say. “Thick, though, from what I’ve experienced thus far.”

Fiona smirks. “Maybe thick in more ways than one, hm?”

My face starts heating up against my will. She's my _aunt,_ for fuck's sake. (Not that that's ever stopped her from acting completely inappropriately for as long as I can remember.)

She smooths out my paper and hands it back to me. I take it. “So,” she says. “Do you _want_ to let him get to know you? Do you want to know him?”

I clench my fists in my lap so I don't start chewing at my skin again. “I don't know.” I don't look at her. If I look at her, she'll know.

“Basil,” she says, and she presses a hand into my back.

 _Fuck,_ that's what always gets me. Fiona being _sentimental._

I turn my head and meet her eyes. They’re soft and fierce at the same time.

“It’s fear, boyo, and it’ll take everything you’ve got if you let it.” She shakes her head at me. “Don’t let it.”

I tilt my head, raise my eyebrows. “No offense, but you really think you’re a font of knowledge when it comes to relationships?”

Fiona rolls her eyes. “What we’ve got works for Nicky and me. Not typical, maybe, but it works.” She sighs and lifts her hand from my back, runs her fingers through her bed–mussed hair. “There’ve been times I’ve wondered, _Am I kidding myself_?” She shrugs. “But I can’t let him go.”

I'm not sure what to say to that. I'm not sure what goes through Fiona's head when it comes to Nicodemus, but I suppose it's not really my business.

I stare at my mobile in my hand and turn it over and over in my palm with my fingers. _It’s fear._ Well. She’s not wrong about that. Not even close to wrong.

Fiona lays a hand on my wrist to stop me fidgeting. She speaks softly, a rarity for her. “You never know unless you take the chance.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and swipe my mobile open.

 

**SIMON**

 

I end up taking my truck and walking around all the little shops by Watford to try and keep myself busy while I wait to hear from Penny.

Maybe it’s about time I admit to myself that I came down here hoping to run into Baz.

I mean, I know he’s got class today – _obviously_ – but maybe he has a shift afterwards and I can talk to him myself. Or, like…look at him.

I like to look at him.

I pull my mobile out from my jeans pocket but I’m immediately disappointed. No news from Penny. Probably he hates me.

 _It’s fine_ , I think. _Plenty of fish in the sea and all that._

But _fuck_ , I don’t want a goddamn fish. I want _Baz._

I pass by Nico’s for what must be the fourth or fifth time since I’ve been here. It’s the first time I notice the sign hanging in the window, though.

I pull my phone out again and text Penny.

 

 **Simon (4:02 pm):** pen sorry I know I’m supposed to be waiting but I need to know now it’s important

 **Simon (4:02 pm):** have you talked to him

 **Penny (4:03 pm):** Please calm down.

 **Penny (4:03 pm):** I’m texting him now.

 

Holy shit. She’s _texting him now._

 

 **Simon (4:03 pm):**!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Simon (4:03 pm):** WTF PENNY

 **Simon (4:04 pm):** WHATS HE SAYING

 

Fuck, I need her to answer me _now._ Fucking hell. My heart’s speeding up in my chest and I have to sit down on a bench outside the shop so I’m not just stood here at the door like some creep.

 

 **Simon (4:05 pm):** also wtf you have HIS NUMBER

 **Simon (4:06 pm):** PENNY ISTG WHAT’S HE SAYING

 **Simon (4:06 pm):** will you give me his number if its good

 **Penny (4:07 pm):** I'm not in the habit of handing people's numbers over without their consent, Simon.

 **Simon** **(4:07 pm):** it's just the once!

 **Simon** **(4:08 pm):** wait

 **Simon** **(4:08 pm):** does that mean its bad

 **Simon** **(4:08 pm):** penny

 **Simon** **(4:09 pm):** PENNY FUCK

 **Penny (4:10 pm):** FFS Simon, please calm down.

 **Penny (4:10 pm):** Let me do what I have to do and I will tell you as soon as I bloody well have a good answer for you.

 **Penny (4:11 pm):** No, nothing bad.

 **Penny (4:11 pm):** Yet.

 

God _damn it._

I look over my shoulder at the sign in the window again. Then I get up and open the door to the little bookshop café.

It’s cozy inside; a lot cozier than the other night, even though I know there’s probably nothing different about it except my mood. There’s a lot more people sat around the tables than there were when I was here last, and the blonde woman behind the counter is making some sort of specialty coffee like her life depends on it.

“Philippa!” she calls as she finishes the drink and sets it down on the counter. The brunette who gets up to fetch it looks slightly familiar (I’m not sure why).

I step up to the counter just as the barista is wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She’s got her dirty blonde hair tucked behind her ears, but some falls free when she notices me. “Just a tick, love,” she says, then she pushes her hair back again and goes to the sink to wash her hands. She’s back in a flash. “What’ll it be, then?”

“Oh, um. I was interested in the job posting?”

“Ah, sure. Looking for holiday help. Might hire on permanent when it’s all over. You ever worked in a café before?” She says it all so fast it takes my brain a second to catch up.

“No.”

“You ever had a job before?”

“Um. No.” Well, this isn’t turning out at all like I expected. But that’s half the problem, isn’t it? Places want you to have experience to give you a job, but you need a job to get experience. I hold in my sigh of defeat.

The barista – Ebb, her name tag says, though maybe I shouldn’t trust that considering past experience with name tags in this place – is drying her hands with a tea towel when she says, “You reliable?” It takes me by surprise.

I feel my mobile vibrate in my pocket. _Fuck_ , what awful timing. Can’t look at it now. “Yeah. I mean, I think so–,”

Ebb slings the tea towel over her shoulder. “You've got the job, then.” _What?_

My mobile vibrates again, then _again,_ and it’s bloody torture not to reach into my pocket and see what Penny has to say. What _Baz_ has to say. “Oh. Um. Don't you need to, like. Interview me?”

Ebb shrugs. “Ah, I need the help. And if you're reliable and willing to learn, then you've got it.” Did I just get a job? With no effort whatsoever? My mobile vibrates _again_ and I can’t even be happy about the damn job.

“Oh,” I say. “Well. Thank you.”

“Can you start now?”

I try not to look surprised, but I’m not sure it works. “Oh. Yeah, alright.”

“Nicky!” she yells over my shoulder, and I nearly jump through the bloody ceiling. “Come cover the café for me, will you? I’ve got me a new barista!”

I turn around and see a man walking towards us who looks shockingly like Ebb, only taller. She gestures at him. “My brother, Nicky. He runs the bookshop. Nicky, this is – well. What _is_ your name, love?”

“Oh, it’s Simon,” I say, and I take the hand extended to me. “Simon Salisbury.”

“Welcome aboard, Mr Salisbury.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No sirs ‘round here. Nicodemus. Nico, if you’d like.”

“Right.”  

“Come on then, Simon,” Ebb says. “Let’s get your papers sorted.” She pulls me by the arm and I follow her out of the café. My phone’s a lead weight in my pocket.  “We’ve only got a few simple rules,” she says as we walk. “Keep your nails tidy. Personal hygiene, you know. Let’s see, we wear all black in the café, nice trousers. Oh, and no mobiles on the floor.”

Oh, bloody fucking hell.

We go through all the administrative stuff – paperwork, setting me up with a username and password for the registers, finding me a locker, all of it – relatively quickly, I think. (I don’t know; I’ve never had a job before.) Then Ebb hands me an apron and says, “Come on, then.”

I have just a few seconds to check my mobile – _finally_ – before I leave it in my locker and follow her back out onto the floor. Every message is from Penelope, of course, but my eyes settle on the last and my heart jumps.

It’s a mobile number.

 

* * *

 

It’s near closing and I'm stood at the register when I see Dev heading towards the café.

It was a surprise when I first saw him earlier on in my shift. I’d no idea he worked here. He’s shot me a few glances throughout the evening, but he hasn’t tried to come over here till now.

He's got an easy swagger that almost makes me jealous. I've watched him flirting with the customers all night, and not one of them was put off by him. I don't need all of his confidence, just enough for one bloke. Just enough to convince his cousin I might be worth going out with.

Oh fuck, does he know about Baz and me? Did Baz tell him about how I practically begged Penny to get his number for me? Am I going to have to pass some sort of test with Dev before he approves of me?

Oh my God, _Baz._ I’ve been thinking on him all night (as much as I can while I try to learn my new job). All I can really think is how I’ve no idea what the fuck I’m even going to say to him when my shift’s over and I finally have the chance to text him.

Dev stops in front of my register, smirking and raising an eyebrow at the same time. I guess good coordination must run in the family.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the pastry case.

“Well,” I say, and I shove my hands into my pockets because I'm not sure what to do with them. “I work here.”

“I noticed.”

“Right.”

I wonder if I should ask him about Baz or if that would be too weird.

Fuck it.

“Where's Baz?” I say, which is probably a stupid question in retrospect. Obviously he’s got a life outside of work and school. It’s not like his cousin keeps tabs on him. _Does_ his cousin keep tabs on him? That’d be a little fucking weird.

Dev raises his eyebrows again and looks like he knows _exactly_ what's going on in my head right now.

That'd make one of us.

For a second, I think he’s going to answer me, but then he tilts his head and just keeps giving me that look. I'm about to tell him to come off it when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his mobile.

“Thought we couldn't have our phones on the floor...”

He doesn't answer, just reaches over the register and tears a bit of receipt paper off from the roll. He scrolls through his mobile, takes a pen off his name tag lanyard, and starts jotting something down. Then his eyes flick up to mine as he clicks his pen and slides the piece of paper across the counter to me.

I take it. “What're you–,”

“You want to know where Baz is?” Dev shrugs. “Ask him yourself.” Then he _winks_ at me and walks away.

When I look at the piece of paper, he’s written a mobile number. I actually snort.

 

**BAZ**

 

It’s been hours since I gave up my mobile number to Bunce, because I’m weak. _Still._ Apparently I can't help it.

I’m a constant disappointment to myself, and I’ve obviously been played for some sort of fool, because if someone is so – how did Bunce put it? – _desperately attracted_ to me, then why would he wait so bloody long to get in touch? There’s only one desperate idiot in this scenario, and it obviously isn’t Simon Salisbury. (Of _course_ Bunce had to give me his surname, as if he wasn’t real enough in my mind already.)

I threw my mobile onto my bed a while ago – more like chucked it in a passionate rage – because I needed it out of my reach if I’m going to get any work done at all tonight. My essay on _Les Misérables_ is due next class, and I still haven’t finished. Fucking Dev and Niall. Fucking party. Fucking Simon _bloody_ Salisbury and his _stupid_ blue eyes and his curls and his moles and his freckles and his forearms and his stupid adorable mouth with his stupid stammering.

I sigh and my shoulders slump as I lean back in my desk chair and close my eyes. _I told you_ , one part of my brain says. _It’s not bloody worth it to be vulnerable. You idiot._

What’s the etiquette for texting someone you’re interested in once you’ve acquired his phone number? Is there an instruction pamphlet for this sort of thing? There’s a collection of relationship books in the self–help section of the bookshop, but I’ve never thought to look at any of them. Maybe I should’ve. Maybe there would’ve been something _useful._

 _He’s not texting you,_ I think, _because this is an actual joke, Basilton. The game is up._

Penelope Bunce doesn’t seem the sort of person to play cruel jokes. Honestly she doesn’t seem the sort to have the patience for it.

I push my laptop away. Some sleep will do me good; I can work on finishing my essay before work tomorrow.

I’m just getting up from my chair when there’s a muffled buzz from my bed, then another, and another, and another.

Dev, maybe. His shift’s probably just ended and he’s been trying to get back in my good graces since the party.

Or maybe…

No, thinking _that_ will only lead to disappointment.

I stand next to my bed and just stare at my mobile for a few minutes. It’s face-down against the blanket, and anxiety’s welling up like electricity inside me even though I’m not rightly sure what I’m afraid of.

_It’ll take everything you’ve got if you let it._

I pick my mobile up and turn it in my hand.

_You never know unless you take the chance._

And I swipe it open.

 

 **Unknown (10:29 pm):** hey baz

 **Unknown (10:29 pm):** sorry it took so long

 **Unknown (10:29 pm):** its me

 **Unknown (10:30 pm):** simon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dev Grimm, ladies & gents: unnecessarily helpful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all; apologies for the longer stint between chapters this time. 
> 
> Here's the thing - For a while I was waffling about whether to give Baz a certain mental health challenge, & I finally decided to go ahead & do it (there are some references in the last chapter). We're going to get into that more in this chapter, so **TW** for some mental health stuff. Baz & I share this particular diagnosis, & it was difficult trying to put it into words, so I hope the result here is decent. (My lovely betas say so, & I trust them & offer them all the thanks in the world for keeping me sane & offering suggestions as I tried to hash this chapter out over the last week & a half. Thank you [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast).)
> 
> Oh! I hope y'all can see Simon's t-rex emoji, because he uses it with abandon in this chapter, but if not I'm sorry & just know I envision it like this:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/edited-image_zpspv9fzyuf.png.html)  
> 

**SIMON**

 

Penelope waits till the last ring to answer, probably on purpose. "Yes, Simon?"

"Pen. I've done it."

"Done _what_?"

I told her everything as soon as I was off work – how I went to Nico's to look for Baz, how I saw the job posting but didn't want to apply until I knew Baz didn't hate me, how I decided to ask anyway because I needed something to do, how I accidentally got the job.

How I thought about texting Baz on my break but then just sat staring at Penny's messages the whole time.

I sat in my truck in the carpark after work texting her furiously until she called me because she was annoyed by all the typos.

Then I came home, and I finally sent my messages, and they've just shown as read on Baz's end and I think I'm having some sort of mental breakdown.

" _Texted Baz_ ," I say into my phone.

"Well, _good._ Isn't that the point?"

"Pen. What all did you tell him?"

Penny sighs. "That's between me and Basil, Simon."

" _Basil?!"_ I say.

"What, you didn't think his name was just _Baz,_ surely?"

Who even _is_ this guy?! How many names can one person have?

I bring my mobile down from my ear to look at it. Still nothing from Baz. _Shit._

“Penny,” I say. “This is serious. Baz read my messages like…at least five minutes ago now, and he’s not said anything back.”

“So?”

“ _So_? _Penny._ What d’you mean, _so_? So why the fuck hasn’t he texted me back?”

“Who knows, Simon. Do you always text people back right away? Maybe he’s just thinking on what to say.”

I sigh. I suppose that’s a fair assumption. I had all evening to figure out what I was going to say. He’s had five minutes. Well. Seven, now.

“Guess I’m nervous,” I say, picking at a loose thread in my quilt. I’m sat on my bed in the clothes I was wearing at work – jeans and a jumper, which Ebb said was fine since I started on the spot. (I’m going to have to go shopping for more black clothes.) I’ve still got my trainers on, too; I couldn’t be bothered to take them off once I saw Baz had read my messages.

I guess I’ve had seven minutes, now. Eight, rather.

“He’s just another person, Simon. He doesn’t bite.”

“I know, I just…” Just _what_? Really care what he thinks of me? Want him to like me? “I dunno. I want us to get on.”

The vibration next to my ear nearly makes me jump. My stomach flips when I see the name on my mobile screen.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:39 pm):** Hello. 

 

" _Penny!_ " I yell.

"For fuck's sake, Simon, _what?_ "

"He's answered me!" My heart’s about to beat out my chest, and I grip my phone tighter so it won’t slip out of my sweaty palm. Fucking hell, I can’t remember the last time I was so bloody nervous. And excited. And…

_Happy._

“What’d he say, then?” Penny asks.

" _Hello_ ,” I say, and I’m grinning ear to ear; I can’t help it. “Pen. What do I say?”

I hear her take a deep breath. She lets it out _slowly._ “Simon,” she says, “Do you remember what you said to me, just the other night?”

My smile falls. “I mean, I’ve said _a lot_ to you these past few days–,”

“You asked me to talk to Baz and get a feel for the situation. And then you said _I’ll do the rest myself_.”

“Penny!”

“I can’t tell you what to say. That wouldn’t be getting to know _you_ , would it?” Penny pauses, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice when she starts talking again. “Just be _you_ , Simon.”

I let out a little breath and rub the back of my neck. I’m smiling again, and blushing. Blushing all alone in my room, and all he even said was _hello._

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah.”

 

**BAZ**

 

This was a stupid fucking idea. 

_Hello._ Christ, was that really the best I could do?

My heart’s still pounding in my chest. I can almost hear it in my ears.

I sit on my bed and consider lighting myself on fire. That would solve all my problems, at least for the time being. Someone would have to clean up what’s left of me, I suppose, but that’s less embarrassing than what I’m subjecting myself to now, whatever that is. I’d be blissfully unaware and hopefully unhaunted by Simon Salisbury’s freckled forearms in the afterlife.

Simon Salisbury's _forearms._

I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea.

Because he's got a cute undercut and a cute mole next to his Cupid's bow and those _forearms._ And for some reason I've stooped to the level of finding his nervous blustering _attractive._ I could stop it with my mouth and feel his ums vibrate down my throat.

That's it. Whatever he says, I’m not answering him.

Surely Bunce would never let me hear the end of it.

Then again, we only have a few classes left before the end of term. I wouldn’t have to see her unless she came into the shop.

The shop, _fuck._ Of course she would come there. Or Simon would.

I’ll have to resign. It’s the only way. Resign and hope that I never have a class with Penelope Bunce again.

My phone vibrates and lights up in my hand.

 

**Unknown (10:45 pm):** so

**Unknown (10:45 pm):** I need some clarification on your name

 

_He's desperately attracted to you, Basil, and if I have to continue listening to him gush about you I'm going to fill my pockets with rocks and walk into the Thames._

 

**Unknown (10:46 pm):** 🦖

 

I feel my lips quirking up against my will. _Tyrannosaurus._ There's a fluttering in my belly and I bloody well consider the possibility that I've been wrong about my sexuality my entire life. I consider the case for  morosexuality, cock an eyebrow.

And then I add Simon Salisbury to my contacts.

 

**SIMON**

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:47 pm):** It's Baz. I told you that the other night, I seem to recall. Perhaps you were drunk?

 

This wanker. I literally just called him Baz fifteen minutes ago.

_Sarcastic arsehole._

Hm. I think I sort of like it; I can feel myself grinning. I have done since his message came through.

 

**Simon (10:48 pm):** i didn't forget

**Simon (10:48 pm):** and I wasnt drunk

**Simon (10:48 pm):** i had 1 drink

**Simon (10:49 pm):** and im not talking about the baz bit, baz

**Simon (10:49 pm):** im talking about the rest

 

It takes him a few minutes to answer. I'm practically at the edge of my mattress before my screen lights up again.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:51 pm):** The rest?

**Simon (10:51 pm):** yeah

**Simon (10:51 pm):** like

**Simon (10:52 pm):** your name tag

**Simon (10:52 pm):** 🦖🦖🦖

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:53 pm):** It's Tyrannus. Not Tyrannosaurus.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:53 pm):** You dolt.

 

_Tyrannus._ I try to sound it out but I’ve no idea if it’s right.

 

**Simon (10:54 pm):** i’ll need you to sound that out for me next time i see you

 

Should I tell him I’m working at Nico’s now? I start to type out a text but change my mind halfway through. We’re both on the schedule tomorrow (I checked). It could be fun to leave it as a surprise, I think. Also he’s not answered me about seeing him again. I try not to think about what that might mean.

 

**Simon (10:55 pm):** so

**Simon (10:55 pm):** if your first names tyrannus why dyou go by baz

**Simon (10:55 pm):** like it’s fine

**Simon (10:55 pm):** i’m just wondering

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:56 pm):** First of all, your texting is abysmal.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:56 pm):** Secondly, it’s my middle name.

**Simon (10:56 pm):** seriously? you’re tyrannus baz.

**Simon (10:56 pm):** or tyrannus basil I guess

**Simon (10:57 pm):** penny told me it was basjl

**Simon (10:57 pm):** basil

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:57 pm):** No. It’s short for Basilton. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

 

What the _fuck_? I wonder if his parents were trying to meet some sort of syllable quota or something, but then I count them out on my fingers and realize that Simon Snow Salisbury isn’t far off.

Still.

 

**Simon (10:58 pm):** christ that’s a mouthful innit

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:59 pm):** I like it. My mother chose it.

**Simon (10:59 pm):** did you tell her i called you tyrannosaurus? 🦖🦖🦖

**Simon (10:59 pm):** god, you probably did

**Simon (10:59 pm):** she probably thinks i’m an idiot

**Simon (11:07 pm):** baz?

 

Fuck. I don’t know what I’ve said wrong, but Baz read all my messages as soon as they came through and he still hasn’t said anything. Maybe I should drop the whole T-Rex bit; probably he doesn’t think it’s cute (I do). Or maybe he’s not actually seen my texts. Maybe he left his phone open somewhere and went for a piss. Or something.

I realize I’ve been rubbing the back of my neck this whole time so I drop my hand before I start rubbing my hair out. I check my mobile even though it hasn’t vibrated. I lock it. Unlock it. Sigh. Set my phone face down on the bed. 

I’ve no idea what I’m doing. Penelope told me to just be myself, but I don’t know if that’s good enough.

I’m about to text Penny to ask her what to do when my mobile lights up against my sheets. It’s almost embarrassing, how fast I pick it up.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:10 pm):** My mother died.

 

Oh my God.

Oh my _God._

I’m such an idiot.

 

**BAZ**

 

My mother died.

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

_"Let the thought in, Basil, but don't assign meaning to it."_

_My fault. My fault. My fault._  

_"Don't fight it; that gives it power."_

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

_"You let it in and don't react. It's a thought, only a thought."_

_My fault. Isn't it? It can't be. Can it? It is. It is. It is._

_Blood and glass and_ pain.

My heart is pounding and my mind is tired and my fingers are bleeding and I have to scream at the ceiling because it just. Won't. Stop.

I close my eyes, lie face-first against my pillow, breathe in the scent of cedar and bergamot. I breathe _deep_.

_My mother died,_ I think.

_It was your fault,_ I think.

I breathe.

_Your fault,_ I think.

No. _It_ thinks. It’s the monster, not me.

_My fault,_ I think, and I sit with it. I hold it close. I feel the tendrils of fear coiling through me, through my guts, the thought spinning in my head, knocking against my skull.

And then I breathe it out.

I breathe until my mind is quiet, breathe in the oils dabbed into my pillow. It was my stepmother who thought they might help. I was fifteen, and my medications had just been changed, and the withdrawal was wicked and mean.

“ _This one,_ ” she said, and she held up the little glass bottle of cedar, “ _will help calm you down. And this one,"_ she showed me the bergamot and moved in closer, her pregnant belly bumping into me, “ _will help with your mood.”_ I remember thinking it was all ridiculous, probably, but I was tired, _so tired,_ and I let her fold the two little bottles into my hand. She pressed a kiss into my temple, just like my mother used to do, and I cried myself to sleep that night. I cried myself to sleep as I breathed in the smells of the earth, of wood and citrus, and it was the quietest my mind had been in weeks. I didn’t even dream that night. Or at least there weren’t any nightmares. No blood. No glass. No screeching of tires.

I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here.

I don’t know what Simon must think of me.

I lift my head and look around for my mobile, but it isn’t on the bed. _You don’t think you deserve it, is that it?_ Yes. And no.

_Simon_ doesn’t deserve this. No one should have to deal with this. With me.

Not even _I_ should have to deal with me.

Bold of me to assume he wants to deal with me at all. Bunce says he wants to get to know me, but...

Well. He won’t be so _desperately attracted to me_ then.

And yet…

And yet I’m still looking around for my bloody mobile as if I’ve lost my bloody right hand.

I find it when it starts vibrating against the floor. It’s still buzzing as I stretch down to grab it.

I roll onto my back as my eyes scan over the texts. Fuck, my screen was open the whole time. He probably thinks I’ve already read them all. My heart clenches as I take in his words.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:10 pm):** fuck I'm so sorry

**Fit Idiot (11:19pm) :** my dad’s a twat. left my mum when she told him she was pregnant. i don’t even know him

**Fit Idiot (11:19 pm):** so

**Fit Idiot (11:20 pm):** i guess I sort of know how it feels

**Fit Idiot (11:20 pm):** that sounds stupid too

**Fit Idiot (11:20 pm):** fuck

**Fit Idiot (11:21 pm):** look I'm just sorry

 

Alright. Best answer him before he implodes.

I stare at my mobile and wonder what to say. How do you even pick up from _that_?

 

**Baz (11:25 pm):** You're going to hurt yourself if you keep on like this.

 

Fuck, I probably should’ve said something more...comforting? How do you comfort someone? I don’t bloody know.

 

**Baz (11:25 pm):** I'm sorry about your father, too.

**Fit Idiot (11:25 pm):** oh

**Fit Idiot (11:25 pm):** sorry about what i said

**Fit Idiot (11:26 pm):** i didnt mean to upset you

**Baz (11:26 pm):** You didn’t know.

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **appears. Disappears. Appears again.

 

Perhaps I'm not the only one who has no idea how to pick up after a confession of dead mothers and deadbeat fathers.

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

I close my eyes, breathe, let it go. My mobile vibrates and I open my eyes to find that Simon's finally figured out what he's trying to say. Sort of.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:27 pm):** so

**Fit Idiot (11:27 pm):** whatre you doing rn

**Baz (11:27 pm):** …

**Baz (11:28 on):** Talking to you.

**Fit Idiot (11:28 pm):** right

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **appears. Disappears.

 

Christ, I guess it's up to me.

 

**SIMON**

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:30 pm):** Give us your middle name, then.

**Simon (11:30 pm):** what

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:30 pm):** Your middle name.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:31 pm):** You know, the one that comes after your given name but before your surname.

 

Fuck, does he _really_ think I don’t know what a middle name is? It just seemed like a strange turn for the conversation to take, is all, after my stupid comment about his mum. My stomach’s still rolling with embarrassment.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:31 pm):** I gave you mine.

**Simon (11:31 pm):** oh

**Simon (11:32 pm):** it's snow

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:32 pm):** What the fuck kind of name is Snow?

 

My mum always said she called me that because she liked it. She named me, too, just like Baz's mum did him. I don't know that I should bring that up just now…

 

**Simon (11:32 pm):** i’m a bastard from the north

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:32 pm):** Don’t tell me you’re a secret prince as well.

**Simon (11:33 pm):** lol not that i know of

**Simon (11:33 pm):** you like game of thrones?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:33 pm):** Yes. Though I do prefer the books.

**Simon (11:34 pm):** so your one of those people

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:34 pm):** You’re.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:34 pm):** And yes.

**Simon (11:35 pm):** grammar police too then

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:35 pm):** I don’t particularly enjoy sitting idly by watching people desecrate the English language.

**Simon (11:36 pm):** right

 

I’ve no idea what to talk about right now. Also I’m starting to think Baz’s insults are pretty empty, for the most part.

 

**Simon (11:36 pm):** hey sorry for having penny bother you

**Simon (11:36 pm):** hope it wasn't too weird

**Simon (11:37 pm):** I just wanted to talk to you again

**Simon (11:37 pm):** actually I went back to 5he shop today but you werent there

 

I almost didn’t say it; I didn’t want to seem desperate. Actually I typed it up and was going to delete it but then I hit the send button by accident. I can feel a blush running up the back of my neck, standing my hairs on end.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:38 pm):** Why?

 

Oh, bloody hell.

Fuck it. I guess it’s best to just tell the truth.

 

**Simon (11:38 pm):** i just think your really lovely

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:38 pm):** You're.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:38 pm):** And you're mistaken.

**Simon (11:39 pm):** how am i mistaken then?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:41 pm):** I need to go. I've schoolwork to finish and it's been a long day.

**Simon (11:41 pm):** oh

**Simon (11:41 pm):** ok

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:42 pm):** Goodnight, Snow.

**Simon (11:42 pm):** goodnight

**Simon (11:43 pm):** 🦖

**Simon (11:43 pm):** and baz?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:44 pm):** Yes?

**Simon (11:44 pm):** you are

**Simon (11:44 pm):** lovely i mean

 

Probably it was the wrong thing to say, but maybe not. He _did_ give Penny his number. He wouldn’t have done if he didn’t like me at least a little, would he?

It takes him a few minutes to respond, and I almost think he’s not going to answer at all.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:47 pm):** You’re an absolute nightmare.

 

I wonder if that’s a good thing.

It doesn’t _sound_ like it, but I’m grinning all the same. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

 

**BAZ**

 

I wish I could just. Stop. _Thinking._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, y'all. Remember when I said to buckle in for a bumpy ride? I'm buckling in with you. 
> 
> Oh, also! If you haven't listened to the playlist, I just have to say this is my current favorite song for this fic: [Manta Rays by Ludo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDSRN1StLps)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! It's been a minute, but that's because this chapter took me some time. I think this fic is the most difficult I've written yet (save for In My Blood, which I _am_ working on, in case you were wondering) & it would seem that the difficulty of the material is directly proportional to the amount of time it takes me to write. So thanks for your patience. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely friends, [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) Y'all keep me sane as I write, encourage me, & like, listen to my super awkward stories about my mom. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Content Warnings for this chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
> -Mental health discussion  
> -A pair of wanks

**SIMON**

 

I wake up thinking about Baz, which is par for the course at this point, honestly.

I'm not sure the situation in my trousers is, though. Par for the course, I mean. Maybe I had a nice dream, or…

Maybe I'm just thinking about Baz.

Yeah, I'm definitely just thinking about Baz.

He's got nice hair, and a nice body, and nice lips.

Everything about him's nice, really.

Well. I guess he can be a bit of a dick, actually, but I think I like that about him, too. I like everything I've learned about Baz so far, even if it isn't much.

I think about his lips again.

I think about how I'd like to kiss them.

And I wonder if he'd like that. I hope he would, but I don't know.

I can't think about that right now, the possibility of him _not_ wanting to.

I think about him wanting to instead, wanting to kiss me, wanting me to kiss him, and I push my pajama bottoms down my thighs.

I think that maybe I shouldn't do this. I mean, I've never gotten off on thinking about a bloke before, at least not knowingly. But I want to now. I want to think about him, and about what I could do to him, and I don't know if I _should._

There's just... something about him.

I sigh as I wrap my fingers around myself. It can't hurt, just the once.

 _It can't hurt_ , I think, and I imagine Baz's mouth on mine. Soft and full and turned down into that pout. Our mouths move well together, and he lets me push my tongue into his...

I've no idea what he tastes like. Smoke, maybe? I wonder if he smokes all the time, or just at parties.

God, I don't know him at all, do I?

Can't think about that right now.

I wonder if he's done this and thought about me. _Fuck_.

I'm still kissing him in my head.

I suck on his lips, and push a hand up into his hair, and he sighs and calls me Simon and touches my hip and _oh_ –

My body slumps into my mattress and I let out a sharp sigh. Bloody hell, that didn't take long at all, did it?

I keep my eyes closed as I feel my heart pounding. I count the beats, and I try not to be embarrassed with myself.

"'S'just a wank," I tell myself, out loud for whatever reason, and I feel a blush creep up my neck. Right.

 

* * *

 

“Simon,” Penelope says. “You’re nearing your quota. Rapidly. These your size?” She holds up a pair of black trousers so that I can look at the tag.

We’re shopping for my work clothes, but my heart’s not really in it. I mean, it’s just _clothes,_ so probably my heart wouldn’t be in it anyway, but I guess I thought maybe it’d be a bit more exciting, seeing as I have a job and all, now.

My body's been flitting back and forth between nervous and excited all damn day, and it seems like it's settled more on nervous in the last hour or so. I've not heard from Baz since last night, even though I've texted him today. I almost texted him as soon as I was up, but I didn't want to seem desperate so I made myself wait until after breakfast.

I glance at the tag on the trousers Penny's holding out for me. “‘S’fine,” I say, and I take them and drape them over my shoulder.

“Well, do you _like_ these ones, or–”

“They’re just trousers, Pen. ‘S’all the same, innit?”

“Sure, Simon,” she says, and she grabs another few pairs of the same and throws them over my shoulder with the first.

“I don’t. It’s just…” I sigh. “How can this be _good_?”

Penny looks like she’s just about had enough of me. “He’s not even read your texts. You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but like. Maybe he’s not read them _on purpose._ Like, he’s ignoring me _on purpose._ ” I rake a hand through my hair. “Oh, fucking hell, maybe I sent too many today. Maybe it’s overwhelming. D’you think he thinks I’m clingy? Am I _clingy_ , Pen?”

“Simon–”

“Maybe I should’ve waited for him to say something first today. I mean, I texted him first last night. And then he just _left_ , and maybe I was supposed to get the hint but I didn’t–”

“Simon–”

“I should’ve fucking waited to get this job, too. Jesus _Christ_ –”

“Simon!” Penny yanks on my arms so that I stop messing with my hair. “You are _actually_ a wreck right now. I need you to calm down and think rationally.”

My shoulders slump and I have to catch the trousers before they fall right off and onto the floor. “You’re the one who’s good at that,” I say. “Not me.”

“Let’s try a different strategy,” Penny says. “How about this: What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen here, if Basil truly doesn’t fancy you back?”

“Um. I die.”

“Christ, Simon, since when are you so dramatic?”

“Okay, well. I’d have to work in the same shop as him, for starters.” Scenarios start flooding through my mind, each of them incredibly embarrassing, and I huff a sigh. “I don’t like this game.”

Penny’s eyes roll up to the ceiling in a sort of _give me strength_ gesture. “Alright. You’re working together tonight, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“So if he’s not answered you by then, you’re going to know either way. And also, Basil’s life doesn’t revolve around _you._ It’s end of term, Simon. He’s probably stressing to get his schoolwork done. Hell, _I’m_ stressing to get my schoolwork done. I’m running on fumes and three coffees right now.”

I guess I hadn’t thought about that. Baz did say last night that he had schoolwork to finish. Maybe he pulled an all-nighter and hasn’t even woken up yet, even if it _is_ near two in the afternoon.

“Right,” I say. “Hadn’t thought of that, honestly.”

She raises her eyebrows at me and starts adding black button-up shirts to the trouser pile over my shoulder.

"That's enough," I say. Mum told me to get what I need, sure, but we're not made of money. I can do laundry between shifts if I have to.

I pull my mobile from my jeans as we walk to the check out. Still nothing from Baz, and he still hasn't read anything I sent him today. _It's alright,_ I tell myself as I pocket my phone and smile at the cashier. _Penny's probably right._ He'll be starting work soon, too; the schedule said he starts at half-past two. Not that I memorized his schedule or anything.

That's it. He overslept, and had to hurry to work, and he won't be able to have his mobile on the floor anyway. I'll just see him once I'm there.

 

* * *

 

I go straight from the clothes shop to work and change in the loo, and while I'm in there I realize that I'm not ready for this. Not ready to see Baz again. Not yet.

Fucking _hell,_ this was a stupid idea.

I’m stood in front of the mirror, and I swear to God I’ve never cared so much about my hair staying in place, or how well I’ve shaved, or the fact that I’ve got a little layer of fat on my stomach. None of that’s ever bothered me in the slightest. I’ve never bloody _cared._

I’ve got curls going in all directions right now, so I mess with them until I start hearing Penelope’s voice in my head telling me to _just be myself_ or whatever.

I push my horn-rims up my nose. Annoying, they are, and of course today was the day I’d find I was out of bloody contacts. I’ll be wearing the damn things for the next week at least.

“ _Probably he’ll like them_ , _Simon_ ,” Penelope said. “ _They_ are _cute on you.”_

_“You mean to say I look bookish.”_

_“Well, sure, now that you say. But also they’re cute.”_

I shouldn’t look bookish; I don’t bloody read. The words get all mixed up in my head. Penny says it counts that I like listening to audiobooks, but I’m not sure it actually does.

I glance at the door – just in case someone's come in without opening it – then look myself in the eyes in the mirror. "Alright, Salisbury," I say, and I feel ridiculous, honestly, but I need a bloody pep talk just now. "Gorgeous, you are." (I do keep looking better the longer I stare at myself, actually.) "It's all gonna be…" I'm rubbing the back of my neck now. "Well, this is ridiculous, innit?" I say to my reflection, and then I head out.

I've still got my mobile in my pocket, so I check it. Nothing new since last I checked, and I've got ten minutes till the start of my shift. Baz should already be here. I think that maybe I should do a quick sweep of the shop and find him. Get it over with.

So I do.

I'm feeling a bit sick by the time I've walked the entire shop twice. He's not here, and my shift's starting in a couple minutes, and as I hurry to the break room I'm thinking that Dev must've told Baz I work here now and Baz doesn't want to see me so he's gone and skived off. It pisses me off, if I'm honest.

I look at my mobile one last time before I stuff it in my locker and trade it for my apron. He's still not read any of my texts.

I can't've said something so incredibly awful that he's avoiding me like this. Can I?

I mean, there was the thing about his mum, but how the fuck was I supposed to know?

I sigh. Close my locker. Pull my apron over my head.

There’s a flash of black hair and tan skin as I’m coming out of the break room, and I nearly trip myself as I pick up my speed.

“Dev!” I say, trying to tie my apron behind my back as I hurry after him. It doesn’t work out all that well.

“Oh, if it isn’t Prince Charming,” Dev says once I’ve caught up, and he smirks, but just a little. Something’s off in his eyes.

“Um. Right.” I keep fumbling with my apron tie but the damn thing keeps slipping through my fingers. Fuck it, I’ll tie it when I can stand still. "Did you tell Baz I'm working here?" I say.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "No. Thought you'd take care of that."

“You talked to him today?”

"No."

"Well, aren't you like, best mates?" I can't remember the last time I went a day without speaking to Penelope. I don't think I've _ever_ gone a day without speaking to Penelope.

Dev huffs a laugh that almost isn't a laugh at all. "Cousins first. Not sure he likes me much at the mo. You talked to him today?"

"Tried to," I mutter, and I try not to blush.

We're nearing the café now, and I think Dev's going to break away from me and head off to the information desk or something, but he sighs and stops instead. I have to backpedal a bit.

Dev runs a hand through his hair. It's straighter than Baz's, and shorter, but it still screams _I'm a rich kid._ "Baz is missing," he says.

"What?!" The lady at the nearest table jumps, and a bloke waiting for his drink at the counter turns around to stare at me. I lower my voice. "The fuck you mean, he's _missing_?"

"Not like, _actually_ missing. He's just not answered his phone today."

“Oh.” I can’t properly decide if I should be relieved or concerned. I don’t know Dev at all, but I’d wager that Baz being gone is the reason he’s not sporting that smile he’s had the last two times I’ve seen him. “He’s not read your messages either, then?”

“No,” Dev says. “Nico says he’s called out sick.”

"Oh. _" Oh!_ “Well that’s alright then, innit?” I say. I don’t know about Baz, but when I’m sick I like to lounge around in my trackies and eat soup and watch reruns of _Doctor Who_. Also sleep. He’s probably sleeping. And probably when I’m off work I’ll have some texts from him saying he’s sorry he missed me, but he doesn’t feel well, and maybe I could cheer him up. Or something. Probably something a little less _nice_.

Dev doesn’t look like he thinks it’s alright that Baz is sick. He looks like he’s thinking something over, actually.

“Simon!” Ebb calls from the café. “There you are!”

I wave at her and start backing away from Dev and towards the café. “Look, don’t tell him I’m working here, yeah? I kind of wanted it to be a surprise.”

Dev’s lips quirk up, but only a little. “Sure, mate,” he says, and then he’s gone.

 

**BAZ**

 

I don't know what time it is when I wake up.

I do know that my mind is relatively quiet, almost blissfully so, for the first time since–

 _It's your fault_.

Well. That's what I get for running a scan of my thoughts, isn't it? I really should know better by now.

 _It's your fault. You killed her_.

I roll my eyes even though they're still closed. "Oh, would you _fuck off_?" I say, because I'm alone in my bedroom and no one's here to hear me talking to myself.

 _You killed her_.

I sigh and throw the blankets off myself. I need a piss. " _Fine_ ," I say as I get up. "It's my fault. I killed my mother. You can fuck right off now."

And it does.

That's the thing about it, one of the hardest things. The possibility that it could be right. But it almost always shuts the fuck up as soon as I let it think it's won.

I have my piss – a long one, too; I must've slept a good while – and I think having a bath is just what I need before I make myself something to eat. There's no need to move quickly since I've called out from work. Probably the shift's already started.

I run the water near scalding – as it should be – and pour in more cedar and bergamot than I might on a typical day. I let myself sink down until I'm sat on the floor, my head resting against the tub as I try not to feel guilty for skiving off. I'm sure there's more than one person who needs the money more than I do, more than one person who'd be happy to get the call for help from Nicodemus. And I don't do this often.

Well. I've never done it _here_.

Shame threatens to rise up in my belly but I tamp it down. _You've never missed work_ , I think. _And it's more important, this._

The heady scent of cedar and bergamot is rising on the steam, and I breathe it in, let my shoulders unravel. I feel like I could fall right back to sleep against the tub if I only let myself.

Bloody hell, it's been a long time since it's gotten hold of me like this. I'd nearly forgotten how tired it can make me, how _very_ tired. My body feels like a lead weight.

It used to be little things. Counting steps. Gnawing at my fingers. Worrying about every little thing I could find the time to worry about, and every little thing I couldn't.

And then there was the accident, and suddenly it was this debilitating thing, a monster I couldn't run away from. I was ten years old, and I'd lost my mother, and my mind, and I didn't know how to go on.

I thought it was going to break me.

It almost did.

And then, well. Then it didn't.

I clawed my way back to the surface, inch by suffocating inch, and one day I could breathe again.

I can't say I'm usually triggered the way I was last night, but it's always gotten worse with stress, and I'm under a bit of stress now. Best to head this off before it goes too far, before it's too late.

I sit on the floor, just breathing, just enjoying the _quiet_ , until the bath is full. Then I strip naked and lower myself into the blissful heat of the water.

My eyes close as I rest my head against the back of the bath, and my neck gives a little groan of protest, but then the heat starts seeping in and I sigh, long and deep.

I’ve a mind to stay here a while.

I’ve not gotten any more of my essay written though, and I think I really ought to work on it, especially now that I’ve freed the evening for myself. I could probably finish it tonight, given an hour or two. There’s not much left to write.

Probably I shouldn’t be thinking of schoolwork just now. It doesn’t help with the stress, not really, and I didn’t take the time off just to work on my blasted essay.

I turn my head languidly from side to side, let my neck crack.

My mind wants to wander, and I let it, and I’m not surprised in the slightest when it wanders straight to Simon Salisbury. Of course.

I dreamed last night, dreamed of blood and glass and my mother. A familiar, broken record of pain, though admittedly not one that’s played for some time. Not in my dreams, at least.

And then there was Simon, too. A light in the darkness. Something _good._

 _A light in the darkness,_ bloody hell.

Just thinking about him now sends an unpleasant mixture of dread and warmth rushing through me. I’ve not looked at my mobile all day, not since I called out from work, and I’m not sure what would be worse – turning it on to find Simon’s texted me today, or turning it on to find absolutely nothing. The thought of the latter makes my gut roil more (though not by much).

It’d be easier to never speak to him again, probably. I’m not sure what’s got me so worked up, anyway; he didn’t say anything particularly remarkable last night.

 _Simon Salisbury is not particularly remarkable,_ I think, but I know it’s a lie as soon as I do.

He’s remarkably kind, it would seem. Remarkably daft. Remarkably _endearing._

Remarkably fit, obviously.

And he’s desperately attracted to me, if Penelope Bunce is to be believed.

I wonder what it'd be like to kiss him. To be kissed. To be kissed by _him._

The thought slips in easily, like it’s been lying in wait on the outskirts of my mind this entire time.

But of course it has.

I shouldn’t be torturing myself this way. He may be attracted to me now, but that’s all superficial, the tip of the iceberg. Once he knows me, _truly_ knows me…

I can’t imagine he’ll want to do much kissing then.

 _It’s fear,_ I think. _And it’ll take everything you’ve got if you let it._

Undoubtedly some of the wisest shit Fiona’s ever spouted at me. Still. That doesn’t make it any easier to face.

 _You’ve faced worse,_ I think. _Far bloody worse._

And Simon…

Well, _Simon…_

Simon with his remarkable kindness and his remarkable daftness and his undercut and his moles and his remarkable bloody forearms.

I don't think I could possibly dream up what it'd truly be like to have him above me, his lips on mine, his hands in my hair.

But I can bloody well try.

There's a heat pooling in my belly even at the notion of trying. And, well. It'll help with the stress, surely.

I paint a picture of him in my head, with me, above me, no – _here_ with me now, behind me, his body sturdy to lean back into, and much nicer than the hard slope of the bathtub. He's pressing his lips to the side of my neck, his ridiculous curls fluffing with the rising steam, and I think this is about as close to the real thing as I can get.

At least for now.

His lips curl into a smile against my earlobe, and I _almost_ feel it. And when I reach down into the water to wrap a hand around myself, I imagine it's his instead, freckled and lovely and firm. _Warm._

I've a brief thought that I shouldn't do this, I _shouldn't do this,_ but it feels _good,_ and I want to feel good. I want the world to fall away, at least for a little while.

I sigh, my head turning to the side, and Simon kisses me then, on my mouth this time. Soft and slow, his tongue tracing along my bottom lip.

I wonder what he tastes like.

There's so much left to learn about him. _This is only the beginning of this story,_ I think, somewhere deep inside my mind, the part that isn't busy conjuring up a shade of Simon Salisbury.

I arch up into my touch – _his_ touch – and he whispers something in my ear. _Come on, darling,_ he says.

My breath catches. The hot water has me sweating, and my heart's pounding, my arms and legs tingling, little stars flashing behind my eyes. Light-headed. I should get out of the water, but I'm so _close_ –

The doorknob rattles and my eyes snap open, water sloshing over the side of the tub as I jolt back to reality.

There's a banging on the door. " _BAZ!"_ Dev _fucking_ Grimm. "Baz, you complete _tosser._ You in there?"

This can't bloody be happening. There's not enough blood in my head to figure out _how_ this is happening.

"The _fuck_ are you doing?" I yell back at him. Rage boils red in my gut. Or maybe that's the bath water; it's so _hot._

"Oh, thank _fuck,"_ I hear, then, "He's in there."

"Have you brought a bloody entourage?" I yell, and mentally curse the day I deemed it appropriate to give Dev Grimm a key to Fiona's flat.

"Only me," Niall says, much more calmly than Dev or me. His voice comes muffled through the door. "You alright, mate?"

"What're you doing, anyway?" Dev again. "You've locked the door and Fiona's not even here."

"I'm in a bathroom, you imbecile. There's a limited number of options." I go to lift myself, but I slip back into the water almost as soon as I’ve tried. I’m _dizzy._

“You having a shit, or a wank? Oh my God, have you been in there making sweet love to yourself all day? That why you haven’t answered us?”

“I’m taking a _bath_ , you moron.” I don’t try to stand all the way up this time. I slide up to sitting on the edge of the tub instead, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and all I can think is _I’m going to strangle him._

 

* * *

 

"Look at your text messages, you arsehole,” Dev says once we’re all settled in Fiona’s sitting room. I’ve sat myself in a chair across from the sofa to curb any temptations towards violence brought on by simple proximity.

“My mobile’s in my room, you twat,” I say.

“I am decidedly _not_ the twat in this scenario,” he says. “You’re the one who left us all thinking you’d gone completely mental–”

“ _Mental_?”

“Y’know what I mean.”

“I told him,” Niall says. “I told him you were fine–”

“You can’t just ignore everybody like that and expect us to think you’re _fine_ –”

“I can do whatever I bloody well want to do, thank you,” I say. “And I wasn’t ignoring you. I turned the blasted thing off after I called off from work–”

“Well, a warning would’ve been nice–”

“What are you, my keeper? I’m not an invalid,” I snap.

“Wasn’t saying you were, mate, but with your...well. _History_ –”

" _Dev_ ," Niall says. "Come on, mate–"

Dev scoffs and turns to Niall. "Come on _what_? Scared the shit out of me, he did!"

" _Stop_!" I yell, and both of their heads snap towards me in a blur of black and auburn. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I bloody well snap. And so I stop seeing red. "This isn't about _you,_ " I tell Dev once I've opened my eyes.

"I remember the last time you were bad," he says. "I thought–"

"You thought wrong." I take another breath. _They're trying to help. They're_ just _trying to help._ "I'm _fine_."

"Well." Dev crosses his arms over his chest, then one leg over the other. "You're obviously not–" he fakes a cough "–sick."

Niall gives Dev what looks like a sharp nudge in the ribs. Dev smacks his arm away.

I cross my arms, too, and prop one ankle on my knee. I’m dressed in the clothes I was wearing before my bath – a wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms – because they were the nearest things to me and I wanted to be clothed as quickly as humanly possible. Nothing like hearing your cousin call your name during a detailed sexual fantasy to lower your fashion standards when graced with company. Not that their presence has graced me at all. More like left me starving and severely sexually frustrated.

I take another deep breath. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I just skived off?" I say, mostly to Dev since Niall appears to be a reluctant participant in this entire charade.

Dev rolls his eyes. "No. You don't skive off. You're _Baz._ "

"Well.” I lean forward a bit. “I'm fine. You can rest assured."

Dev looks like he’s about to say something but Niall holds up a hand to stop him. He’s always been better at calming Dev’s outbursts than I have. He just has a way about him. A way of not being a complete areshole, I suppose.

“Did it come back?” Niall asks, his voice soft. The tenderness and understanding in it is almost uncomfortable.

I consider lying. It’s something you get good at when you’re _mentally ill_ , telling people you’re fine when you’re not. But they’re my friends, and they’ve gone out of their way to check on me. They _care_ about whether I’m alright.

 _That_ is uncomfortable in itself in a way I don't fully understand.

I take yet another deep breath. “Briefly. Last night. All the stress, probably. I thought I’d lie low for the day and head it off. I’d just woken up before the two of you barged in.”

“But you’re alright now?” Niall says.

“Tip-top,” I say, which is mostly true. It’d be truer if they’d fuck off and leave me to finish what I started.

“Your bloke was worried about you,” Dev says.

“What?”

“Your bloke. Simon? He said you didn’t read any of his texts today."

I narrow my eyes at him and pretend that my stomach isn’t doing somersaults right now. Or that I wasn't having a rather enjoyable wank to thoughts of Simon not even twenty minutes ago. Or that I’m not currently thinking about how I’m going to finish that wank once Dev and Niall have cleared out. “When did you talk to Simon?”

“Oh. Well.” Dev runs a suspicious hand through his hair. “He came into the shop looking for you, didn’t he?”

“Did he.” _Did he?_ Christ, _did he?_ "Well." I find I’m too busy worrying about what Simon thinks of me now to put much thought into the fact that neither Dev nor Niall seem surprised that Simon and I are on texting terms.

"I only said you were sick,” Dev says. “He probably thinks you’ve got a cold or something."

Niall's brow knits together. "You worried? About him knowing?"

I answer with an arched eyebrow and a _look._

“Well,” Dev starts, “if he doesn’t like you because of _that_ , then he isn’t worth it–”

“ _Dev_ –”

“What? It’s part of who you are, mate.” And that _stings,_ probably because it’s the truth. There’s no running away from my own mind. Unfortunately.

“We’ve only just started talking. Not exactly the best time to tell him I’m – how did you put it? – _completely mental._ ” I sigh and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It’s finally long enough for a bun, but the bits at the front still tend to fall out. “I’ll have to tell him soon, probably, if…" _If? "_ If _this_ is going to continue. Wouldn’t be fair not to.”

“Well,” Dev says. “He seems like a nice enough bloke. And if he’s good enough for you, well. He won’t care.”

“What Dev _means_ ,” Niall says. “Is that Simon _will_ care. Just like we do, yeah?”

I try not to think of that as a bad thing, try not to think of myself as a burden, and I smile at them, just a little, so that maybe we can drop this subject. (I'm not rightly sure how to change it. How do you pick up from _we thought you'd had some sort of mental breakdown so we decided to stage an intervention_?)

Dev stretches his arms above his head and makes a rather unattractive noise. “I don’t know about you lads, but I’m bloody famished. Want takeout?”

I guess that's how you pick up.

 

* * *

 

Dev and Niall stay with me just long enough to watch the latest football match. (I recorded it to watch after I'd finished my essay, but they're here, and they've not seen it either, and they think a little quality time will be good for my stress.) I don't tell them how anxious I am to turn on my mobile so I can look at my presumed messages from Simon. (I try not to tell _myself_ how anxious I am to turn on my mobile, either.) It’s work not to just go get it and look while my friends watch football. I can’t even bring myself to care who’s winning or losing, so I watch in anticipatory silence.

It’s nearing eight o’clock by the time the match is over, and I rather think I deserve some sort of award for the patience I’ve exuded this evening.

Dev takes me by the shoulders as I walk him and Niall to the door. "Text your bloke," he says. I try not to flinch when he pulls me into a hug. I _do_ flinch when he kisses me jokingly – and sloppily, I might add – on the cheek. I also try to slap him upside the head, but he just laughs and ducks out of my reach.

Niall appears next to me and squeezes my shoulder. "It'll work out," he says. "Hopefully faster than things worked out for Philippa and me."

"It _won't_ ," Dev says. "Not unless you actually _talk to him._ "

I roll my eyes at the pair of them. "Be gone, minions," I say, and they both grin at me before they turn to leave.

“Sorry for interrupting your wank!” Dev calls over his shoulder.

“Fuck off,” I say, and I slam the door.

It’s embarrassing how quickly I move from the entryway to my bedroom.

I look at the chat with Dev and Niall first, because once my mobile’s on I regress to panicking about what Simon might’ve said. The messages from my friends are more of the same at first, Dev making crude emoji hand gestures, Niall mooning over Philippa. Then they devolve into Dev working up to a strop once he notices I’ve not read anything ( _this chat is suspiciously lacking in scathing remarks_ ) and Niall valiantly attempting to be the voice of reason, to no avail. The majority of Dev’s timestamps are during his work day, of course; he thinks he’s exempt from the no-mobiles-on-the-floor rule.

I make note of the fact that Dev’s called me a _brooding twat_ in one of his messages – I’ll come up with some _scathing remark_ for him later – and then I clear the missed phone calls I have from the both of them.

And then, well. There’s no excuse not to open Simon’s unread texts.

I take a deep breath for what seems like the millionth time this evening, and then I open our chat.

I think I was expecting a few messages at most, but what I find is a wall of texts, and I can’t stop my traitorous heart swelling as I scroll up to start at the beginning.

 

 **Fit Idiot (9:29 am):** so do you smoke all the time

 **Fit Idiot (9:30 am):** or just at parties

**Fit Idiot (9:30 am): 🦖🦖🦖**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I hope y'all can see Simon's t-rex emojis. He's very attached to them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinosaurs or Dragons?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! 
> 
> First off, just want to say thanks so much for all the wonderful comments on the last chapter (& the one before that, too). I mean, _all_ comments are great, but the ones re: Baz's mental health definitely give me Feels™ & I just want you to know how much they mean to me. I read all of them multiple times, try to come up with something great to say, & ultimately end up spitting out emojis because that's how it be when I get feelings sometimes.
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> Is it necessary to warn y'all when a chapter contains a wank? I mean, I ended up slapping it up in the tags for the fic, so maybe not? What's the etiquette? (There's one wank, towards the end.) 
> 
> Thanks to my fantastic friends, [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) for beta-ing, listening to me complain about how writing is hard, & for not disowning me when I told y'all I was disappointed that dinosaurs had feathers.

**BAZ**

 

**Fit Idiot (9:29 am):** so do you smoke all the time

**Fit Idiot (9:30 am):** or just at parties

**Fit Idiot (9:30 am): 🦖🦖🦖**

**Fit Idiot (9:30 am):** like no judgement

**Fit Idiot (9:30 am):** just curious

**Fit Idiot (9:31 am):** good morning btw

**Fit Idiot (9:31 am):** hope you slept well

**Fit Idiot (9:31 am):** did you?

**Fit Idiot (9:31 am):** sleep well I mean

**Fit Idiot (10:24 am):** i guess you are sleeping well

**Fit Idiot (10:25 am):** your gonna wake up to a shitton of messages

**Fit** **Idiot (10:25 am):** you're gonna wake up to a shitton of messages

**Fit Idiot (11:04 am):** what's your favourite food

**Fit Idiot (11:05 am):** I was just thinking about it because I honestly can't decide between roast beef & bacon butties

**Fit Idiot (11:06 am):** if we're talking food food

**Fit Idiot (11:06 am):** if we're talking sweets then it's definitely scones

**Fit Idiot (11:07 am):** they've got great scones at nicos

**Fit Idiot (12:15 pm):** look this is going to sound stupid but

**Fit Idiot (12:16 pm):** I wasn't sure what to ask you because I've never done this before

**Fit Idiot (12:16 pm):** so I googled it & found this article

**Fit Idiot (12:16 pm):** <https://www.mantelligence.com/funny-get-to-know-you-questions/>

**Fit Idiot (12:16 pm):** so I was thinking maybe we could switch off picking questions from it

**Fit Idiot (12:17 pm):** or something

**Fit Idiot (12:18 pm):** i could go fitst if you want

**Fit Idiot (12:18 pm):** first

**Fit Idiot (12:21 pm):** dinosaurs or dragons?

**Fit Idiot (12:22 pm):** 🦖🦖🦖

**Fit Idiot (12:22 pm):** 🐉🐉🐉

**Fit Idiot (1:06 pm):** look I hope all this isn't too weird

**Fit Idiot (1:10 pm):** like just tell me if you don't want to talk yeah?

**Fit Idiot (1:16 pm):** I have to go to work soon so if you text me & I don't answer that's why

**Fit Idiot (1:20 pm):** wow ok i just read over all that this is really embarrassing

 

_Well._

It would seem I’m not the only one who’s nervous.

 

**SIMON**

 

Work is busy but it goes by slowly, which is a bit unfair if I’m honest. 

Probably it goes by slowly because I’m still thinking about Baz. Also probably because I’m still learning the job, and I’m nervous I won’t get it right, and you’d think all the stress would make time go by faster but _no_. Every time I make someone a coffee I feel like I’ve drunk it, too. I’m hopped up on adrenaline and caffeine by osmosis. Or something. Second-hand caffeine?

I don’t know.

I think I might’ve blown it with Baz already, which is something I really don’t want to think about but I keep thinking about anyway. If he thought I was stupid before, I can only imagine what he'll think once he’s seen all the texts I sent today. Probably he'll think I’m a complete knobhead. _I_ think I’m a complete knobhead.

Like, I’ve no idea how to actually do this, the whole _getting to know someone_ thing. (I didn’t have to with Agatha; we’d known each other for years before we started dating.) And I think I panicked when he didn’t answer me right away. Practically word vomited into my mobile, I did. It’s embarrassing.  

I sigh and lean against the counter as soon as Nico's turned the lock on the door. 

"Alright there, Simon?" Ebb says. She's flung her tea towel over her shoulder again, and I think she's got whipped cream in her hair.

"Hm?"

"Y'look like you've been worrying on something."

"Oh. Thanks. I'm alright." I catch myself rubbing my neck, so I drop my hand. "Just, y'know. Bit of a busy day."

Ebb gives me a look like she's seen right through me but we don't know each other well enough yet for her not to pretend to believe me. "Only gonna get busier now that December's crept up on us. Chin up, love." She hands me a towel, too. "I'll get the dishes. You take care of the tables. Then we'll clean up back here together."

 

* * *

 

By the time my shift's over at ten, my glasses are speckled with syrup and cleaner and all I really want is a shower. And my bed; being a barista's tired work. 

I avoid my locker for a minute, because my mobile's in there and honestly I'm not sure I'm ready to see if Baz ever responded to my texts. Or read them at all. (Part of me sort of hopes he didn't.)(I sort of wish I could get a do-over.)

I check the schedule on the bulletin board to make sure Baz is on tomorrow – even though I already know he is – and then I figure I might as well check my mobile now, because I’m seeing him tomorrow either way. Unless he’s still sick, I guess.

My lock’s hanging on my locker to keep the door closed – I’ve not _actually_ locked it; for some reason I just can’t imagine a band of thieving booksellers and baristas – and I can see my hand shaking as I slip the lock out of the little metal loops. Must be that second-hand caffeine again. Except I know it isn’t.

There’s not much in here – keys, wallet, mobile (my coat’s hung on the rack with everyone else’s) – and it makes it a lot harder to ignore my phone.

Well. Might as well get it over with.

I’ve got text notifications staring at me right from my lock screen, and they aren't all from Penny and my mum, either (though there are a few of those).

My heart nearly jumps right into my throat when I see them, and I can’t keep my face from breaking out in a grin.

Baz has messaged me back.

And he hasn’t even told me to fuck off. 

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (8:24 pm):** Snow.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (8:25 pm):** You’re rather cute when you’re flustered.

 

**BAZ**

 

Sweet merciful _God._

Curse the complete moron who decided that text messages wouldn’t have a recall feature. 

I've spent the last hour and a half trying to finish my essay and distract myself from the fact that I actually sent _that._ I’ve not even been able to finish my interrupted wank (not for lack of trying) because that bloody text just keeps coming back to haunt me. 

I’ve also spent a decent amount of the last hour and a half pacing the flat. My stomach keeps threatening to bring up that curry I had for dinner. Simon’s not read my messages yet; he said he was working but who knows how long it’ll be before he’s off. Who knows how much longer I’ll have to suffer. 

I’m still trying to work out a way to answer his question about my smoking habits without revealing my entire life story. _I’ve got this problem in my head, you see, and I’m terribly uncomfortable in social situations, and it’s terribly uncomfortable being surrounded by a load of trolleyed idiots when you can’t drink yourself. I take medication, you know, for the head problem. Alcohol doesn’t mix well. And also a drunkard killed my mother._

_I smoke socially._ I suppose that’s a more normal answer. 

I think, _It won’t matter, once he’s seen what you’ve said. Too bloody forward of you._

Too _bloody forward._

I unlock my mobile and flip over to my earlier chat with Dev and Niall where my shame is forever encapsulated in a screenshot.

 

**Baz (8:34 pm):** I'm considering lighting myself on fire.

**Baz (8:34 pm):** Look at this shit:

 

**Baz (8:24 pm):** Snow.

**Baz (8:25 pm):** You’re rather cute when you’re flustered.

 

**Imbecilic Relation (8:35 pm):** wow m8

**Imbecilic Relation (8:35 pm):** that's the nicest thing you've ever said 

**Imbecilic Relation (8:36 pm):** to anyone

**Baz (8:36 pm):** I hate it, if that isn’t clear. 

**Imbecilic Relation (8:37 pm):** whats that one saying

**Imbecilic Relation (8:37 pm):** you made your bed now sleep in it or whatever

**Voice of Reason (8:38 pm):** You know, Baz, it’s a relatively normal thing when you’re attracted to another person to, you know. Give them a compliment now and again. 

**Imbecilic Relation (8:38 pm):** yeah that too i guess 

**Baz (8:39 pm):** I’ve never done this before. I’ve no idea what the etiquette is. 

**Imbecilic Relation (8:39 pm):** omfg the etiquette

**Imbecilic Relation (8:40 pm):** theres not a an instruction pamphlet 

**Imbecilic Relation (8:40 pm):** you think hes fit, you talk, and then if you still like each other after that you...do more than talk

**Baz (8:40 pm):** Since when do you actually engage in intelligent conversation with your prospects?

**Imbecilic Relation (8:41 pm):** since when do you actually have prospects

**Voice of Reason (8:41 pm):** Christ.

**Voice of Reason (8:42 pm):** Look, putting yourself out there is scary, but that’s literally all you have to do. Just be yourself. 

 

_Just be yourself._

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

I push that thought away for now, then I flip back to my chat with Simon. I go back through and read each message over another two times, and the giddy flip of my stomach makes me well disgusted with myself. 

Even his correction of his own use of the wrong homonym is stupidly adorable. 

Christ.

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **

 

Oh _fuck._

I clench my free hand in a fist to keep myself from tearing at my fingers with my teeth. My stomach feels like it's about to drop right through my arse and onto the floor.

 

**Fit Idiot (10:04 pm):** hi!

**Fit Idiot (10:04 pm):** sorry for all those messages

**Fit Idiot (10:05 pm):** sorry for taking so long to get back to you

**Fit Idiot (10:05 pm):** i was working

**Fit Idiot (10:05 pm):** about to drive home so if I don't answer that's why

**Fit Idiot (10:06 pm):** can I text you when I get home?

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **finally disappears and he lets me get a word in edgewise.

 

And he wants to talk to me when he gets home. _He wants to talk to me when he gets home._

I type out a calculated, controlled response.

 

**Baz (10:06 pm):** Jesus Christ, Snow. You're an absolute disaster.

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **appears. Disappears. Appears again.

 

**Fit Idiot (10:06 pm):** yeah but

**Fit Idiot (10:07 pm):** you think I'm cute 🙃

 

Well. 

I can feel myself smiling as I drop down onto my bed. 

I’m so far gone.

Damn it all.

 

**SIMON**

 

Mum and I don't live all that far from Nico's, but I swear my truck's never moved so slowly.

I threw my phone in the backseat to keep myself from using it while I'm driving, so I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and shake my leg the whole way home instead.

I still fancy a shower. But also I want to talk to Baz. It's too bad no one's invented waterproof mobiles yet. _Has_ someone invented a waterproof mobile? Surely someone has by now. I'll have to look that up.

Well. It can be a quick shower. I'm not missing my chance to talk to him now that I have him. 

I wonder if I should tell him I'm showering first, just so he doesn't think I've gone and blown him off. 

I guess he probably doesn't need a play-by-play.

It's the fastest bloody shower I've ever taken in my life, in any case, and before I know it I'm lying on my bed in my pyjamas staring at my mobile with no clue what to say.

Best to start simple I guess.

 

**Simon (10:32 pm):** hi again 🙃

**Simon (10:32 pm):** heard you were sick

 

Oh, _fuck._ I'm an idiot. He'll _know_ I work at Nico's now. How the fuck else would I have known he was sick?

 

**_bookshop bloke baz 🦖 is typing_ ** **...**

 

What if he thinks I'm some sort of stalker or something? Oh _God._ That’d be worse, wouldn’t it?

Yeah, that’d definitely be worse.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:34 pm):** Yes. Dev told me you came into the shop today.

 

Oh. Dev covered for me, then. That was nice of him. I mean, I _asked_ , but still. 

I wonder why Dev was talking to Baz about me at all. _Does_ Baz talk to his friends about me? I wonder if they gave him a quota like Penny did me. I doubt it, somehow, although it's nice to think he likes me enough to talk about me. At least a bit.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:35 pm):**   Your concern is both mildly excessive and completely endearing.

**Simon (10:35 pm):** i just wanted to know you were okay

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:35 pm):** Why?

**Simon (10:35 pm):** because I like you

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:36 pm):** You don't even know me.

**Simon (10:36 pm):** yeah, well. we're fixing that, aren't we?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:36 pm):** I suppose we are.

**Simon (10:36 pm):** speaking of which

**Simon (10:37 pm):** you haven't answered my questions

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:37 pm):** Ah, yes. You've left me a plethora.

**Simon (10:37 pm):** well?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:37 pm):** Well. I don't frequent parties, for starters.

**Simon (10:38 pm):** so you do smoke all the time

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:38 pm):** I didn't say that.

**Simon (10:38 pm):** …

 

He's quiet for a minute, and I'm not sure what the big deal is, honestly. I already said I wouldn't mind if he smokes. (I'm not sure that's entirely true, either. I mean, I meant what I said that night at the party. It _is_ bad for him. And I'm not sure I'd _like_ kissing a smoker, if it actually does taste like an ashtray. But I like Baz. I'd kiss his smokey mouth. I'd kiss him so hard, I'd taste like smoke, too. And then I wouldn't even be able to tell the difference.)

 

**_bookshop bloke baz 🦖 is typing_ ** **...**

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:40 pm):** I smoke when I'm incredibly uncomfortable. It helps with the anxiety.

 

Oh.

 

**Simon (10:40 pm):** oh

**Simon (10:40 pm):** so you don't like parties then

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:41 pm):** Not particularly.

**Simon (10:41 pm):** what were you doing then? at the one the other night

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:42 pm):** My mates know Trixie. Last minute invitation. Long story short, my friend Niall fancies one of the girls who was there. I went for moral support.

**Simon (10:42 pm):** nice of you

**Simon (10:42 pm):** hope it worked out for him

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:43 pm):** You might've noticed them snogging on the sofa.

**Simon (10:43 pm):** oh! lol yeah I don't think anyone missed that tbh 

 

I wonder what he looks like right now. Would it be weird to ask him for a selfie? Yeah, that'd probably be weird, especially since he's sick. He's probably bundled up in bed with tissues stuck up his nose or something. (That'd probably be a cute look for him, honestly, but so would anything.)(Maybe not so much with the tissues. Maybe just with his nose flushed.)(I'm so far gone.)

 

**Simon (10:44 pm):** I'm sorry your sick

**Simon (10:44 pm):** sucks

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:45 pm):** You're.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:45 pm):** And I'm alright. Feeling much better.

 

I'm sat on my bed grinning like an idiot. If Baz feels better, well. Maybe that means he'll come to work tomorrow.

Oh fuck, _maybe that means he'll come to work tomorrow._

 

**Simon (10:45 pm):** well thats good then 🙃

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:46 pm):** So. You work.

 

Oh, _sweet buttery Jesus._

 

**BAZ**

Well. It would seem I've successfully avoided talking about my mental health during our first full conversation – for the most part, at least – so that's a relief.

I _will_ tell him, if we keep on like this. But not now. Not yet. I want to know what it's like first. Flirting. Talking to him, _getting to know him_ like I'm a normal bloke, just going to uni and working at a bookshop and trying to figure my _normal_ shit out. Not... _that._

Maybe that's selfish on my part, but I want to let myself have this. Whatever this is. At least for a little while.

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **

**Fit Idiot (10:46 pm):** what

He said he had a job. That's where he's just come from. I haven't imagined that, have I? Surely not. 

I scroll back up to his wall of texts from earlier. Alright, he's just being thick again. 

**Baz (10:46 pm):** You said you have a job?

**Fit Idiot (10:46 pm):** yep

**Fit Idiot (10:46 pm):** sure do

**Baz (10:46 pm):** So…?

How does he spend his days? I've been wondering since I saw that he _had_ a job. 

**Fit Idiot (10:46 pm):** what

Maybe he doesn't want me to know.

**Baz (10:47 pm):** What do you do for work? You dolt.

**Fit Idiot (10:47 pm):** not that exciting really

**Baz (10:47 pm):** Snow.

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **appears. Disappears. Appears again.

**Fit Idiot (10:47 pm):** you could guess?

**Baz (10:47 pm):** Hm.

**Baz (10:47 pm):** What could you possibly do for work that you're so hesitant to tell me?

I'm _this close_ to making a bad joke. _Oh, are you in adult film?_ I hold back to keep from embarrassing myself. And also to keep from imagining Simon Salisbury naked while I have him on the phone.

**Fit Idiot (10:48 pm):** i'm not hesitant

**Fit Idiot (10:48 pm):** i'm a barista

A barista.

I get a sudden vision of Simon Salisbury fixing specialty drinks, whipped cream in his curls. Those forearms flexing as he pumps syrup and mixes those drinks. Fuck, it's more erotic than imagining him naked, honestly. 

**Baz (10:49 pm):** Where at?

**Fit Idiot (10:49 pm):** starbucks?

There’s a Starbucks near campus; I’ve gone there to revise from time to time, but I’ve never seen him there (I'd remember) and it wasn’t near quiet enough to get much schoolwork done. I wonder if it’s that one. I wonder how often it’d be appropriate to go there under the guise of revising just so I can stare at him. 

I’m about to ask him if he thinks he could handle my specialty order (Pumpkin Mocha Breve; I created it myself) when he changes the subject again.

**Fit Idiot (10:50 pm):** ok so what about the other questions

Is he actually a barista, or have I blown his shoddy cover? Oh, Jesus Christ, maybe he’s a serial killer and this is some sort of long con to axe murder me. An incredibly fit serial killer. Is _that_ how he got those forearms?

Well. At least I'll die happy.

**Baz (10:50 pm):** Ah, yes. Let's see.

**Baz (10:50 pm):** I can't think of a particular favourite food, though I do have a fondness for black pudding. That and salt and vinegar crisps. 

**Fit Idiot (10:50 pm):** not together tho

**Baz (10:51 pm):** No, Snow. Don't be disgusting.

**Baz (10:51 pm):** As for your dilemma, I'd personally go with the beef. Very versatile. Bacon butties are just bacon on bread.

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** excuse me

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** bacon butties are gods gift

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** oh

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** well then again so is roast beef

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** i still can't decide

**Fit Idiot (10:52 pm):** i just really like food

He’s such an absolute disaster. 

I bloody well love it. 

 

**SIMON**

 

My face is starting to hurt from all the smiling.

We’ve just spent probably ten minutes going back and forth about food, which has been brilliant but it’s also made me hungry. (Which isn't hard to do anyway.) Also I think I’ve convinced Baz that his favourite food actually _is_ salt and vinegar crisps, because it was one of the first things he thought of and he says he eats them all the time. He's got a whole secret stash in his room, because apparently his aunt likes them too and he says this way he'll know if she's been pilfering his snacks.

I don’t tell him I know we sell salt and vinegar crisps in the café, because Baz now thinks I work at a fucking _Starbucks_. 

I couldn't tell him I work at Nico's, could I? I didn't mean to lie to him. I told him I'm a barista. _That_ wasn't a lie. But I didn't expect him to ask me _where_ , and Starbucks was the first thing that came to mind. I mean, he'll find out tomorrow either way, I guess. I think I've successfully gotten us away from that topic, anyway. At least for now.

 

**Simon (11:02 pm):** ok now the most important question

**Simon (11:02 pm):** dinos or dragons

**Simon (11:02 pm):** im guessing this is a hard one for you

**Simon (11:02 pm):** considering

**Simon (11:02 pm):** 🦖🦖🦖

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:03 pm):** Considering the disappointing revelation regarding dinosaurs having feathers, I have to go with dragons on this one.

**Simon (11:03 pm):** wow so your basically betraying your own namesake

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:03 pm):** You’re. 

**Simon (11:04 pm):** fuck would you stop that

**Simon (11:04 pm):** i know which one is right

**Simon (11:04 pm):** just doesnt always come out that way

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:04 pm):** It’s entertaining to rile you up. 

 

That makes me blush. I'm not sure why.

 

**Simon (11:05 pm):** also like yeah about the feathers

**Simon (11:05 pm):** i just consider jurassic park dinosaurs to be canon tbh

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:05 pm):** Canon?

**Simon (11:05 pm):** yeah like canon history

**Simon (11:06 pm):** do you have like a preferred dragon

**Simon (11:06 pm):** are you going with like...khaleesi dragons or smaug 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:06 pm):** Snow.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:06 pm):** You can’t just rewrite history.

**Simon (11:06 pm):** why not? dont people do that all the time anyway?

**Simon (11:07 pm):** dinos not having feathers is pretty innocent in terms of rewrites imo

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:07 pm):** Touché. 

**Simon (11:08 pm):** so i feel like maybe youd relate to smaug

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:08 pm):** You feel like I’d relate to a dragon who attacked a town full of innocent people. 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:08 pm):** Or are you saying I’m vain?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:09 pm):** Or that I’d like to sleep for years under a mountain of gold?

**Simon (11:09 pm):** wow i mean i was just thinking your both sarcastic tbh

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:09 pm):** You’re.

**Simon (11:10 pm):** i fucking know

**Simon (11:10 pm):** smaug would totally be the type of dragon to correct peoples grammar & shit

**Simon (11:10 pm):** i dont think youd want to kill innocent people

**Simon (11:10 pm):** i mean you wouldnt right

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:11 pm):** Honestly, Snow.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:11 pm):** What a question. 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:12 pm):** I’m changing my answer. I’ll be the T-rex from Jurassic Park just so I can eat people out of spite.

**Simon (11:12 pm):** this wasn't a who would you rather be question but go off I guess

**Simon (11:12 pm):** my favourites are the raptors from jurassic world

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:13 pm):** The best thing about that movie was looking at Chris Pratt, let's be honest.

 

I've never thought about it that way before. At least I don't _think_ I have. I think back to seeing that film with Penny, and suddenly I'm remembering _really_ enjoying watching Chris Pratt and now I'm wondering why I didn't think anything of it at the time. Who knew.

Also now I'm jealous of Chris Pratt.

I think about telling Baz that I'm not gay, but I'm not sure it's important.

_Is_ that important? Maybe? 

I mean, even _I'm_ not sure what I am. I guess bi would be a good place to start?

Is Baz gay? Penelope never told me whether he mentioned it. It doesn't matter to me, as long as we get on.

I'm not really sure how to even bring it up.

 

**Simon (11:13 pm)** : im not gay?

 

Oh, fuck. That's one way to bring it up I guess.

 

**BAZ**

 

**Fit Idiot (11:13 pm):** im not gay?

 

_I'm not gay._

What. The actual. _Fuck._

I may vomit.

How have I so royally fucked this up? 

I can practically hear Penelope Bunce's voice saying,  _He's desperately attracted to you, Basil,_ over and over in my ear.

No. I was bloody well right all along, wasn't I? This is some elaborate joke.

_Still._

 

**Baz (11:14 pm):** Pardon?

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **

 

**Fit Idiot (11:14 pm):** sorry that came out wrong

 

I've been holding my breath. I let it out as I drop my head back against my pillow, close my eyes. My mobile vibrates in my hand, just keeps vibrating, but I let myself take a few breaths before I look, let my heart come back down to reality.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:14 pm):** im not gay

**Fit Idiot (11:14 pm)** : i like you tho

**Fit Idiot (11:14 pm)** : so i mean obviously i’m a little gay

**Fit Idiot (11:15 pm)** : but also i’ve had a girlfriend

**Fit Idiot (11:15 pm):** & i’ve kissed girls

**Fit Idiot (11:15 pm):** but also yeah chris pratt is well fit

 

I read them all through three times, my brain playing his voice in my head as if he's here with me right now, talking to me. _Telling_ me.

_I like you, though._

I wonder how many people he's kissed, how many he's dated, how many he's done _this_ with, and then I immediately regret it as the jealousy claws deep in my belly like some...well. Like a dragon, I suppose. Or maybe one of Snow's velociraptors. 

He's not said anything about kissing blokes, or dating them. I don't think I want to _know,_ but also I do, and also…

I wonder if he has anyone else to talk to about this, anyone else who's been in his shoes.

 

**Baz (11:17 pm):** When did you realize you like blokes?

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **appears. Disappears. Appears again.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:17 pm):** when i met you tbh

 

_What?!_

_What the actual flying fuck._

 

**Fit Idiot (11:18 pm):** does this change anything?

**Fit Idiot (11:18 pm):** idk what I am but I know I like you

 

_Does_ it change anything?

I don't know that I've ever caused anyone a sexual identity crisis before. I wonder what happened. Was he afraid? Nervous? Or did he simply take it in stride?

He knows he likes _me._

His world was probably turned upside-down at this revelation and he still wants to talk to me. That's…

_Brave._

I've no idea what to say, and I always make a point of figuring out what I'm going to say before I type it. Otherwise he'll know I'm typing, trying to say something, changing my mind, rewording. I don't _like_ that. And this, well. This definitely isn't the time for a sarcastic comment. Which seriously limits my options.

 

**Baz (11:18 pm):** It's alright, Simon. 

**Baz (11:18 pm):** We've all had to figure ourselves out at some point.

 

Oh, _God_ . That isn't good enough. Not at all. But what do you _say_ to that? _Happy to be the catalyst for your bisexual awakening?_

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_ **

 

**Fit Idiot (11:19 pm):** are you gay?

 

Well, that's easy enough. I've known the answer to that one for a long time.

 

**Baz (11:19 pm):** Completely.

**Fit Idiot (11:19 pm):** you probably do this all the time then

**Baz (11:20 pm):** Do what, exactly?

**Fit Idiot (11:20 pm):** talk to other blokes

**Fit Idiot (11:20 pm):** like, I'm sure other blokes are  interested in you all the time

**Fit Idiot (11:20 pm):** actually I'm surprised you don't have a boyfriend

**Fit Idiot (11:21 pm):** you don't have a bf do you?

 

How thick can he possibly get?

 

**Baz (11:21 pm):** I collect them, actually. A hobby to pass the time, you know.

**Fit Idiot (11:21 pm):** really

**Baz (11:21 pm):** No, Snow. Not really.

 

I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell him that my experience in this arena amounts to exactly zero.

Will _that_ change anything? Will it scare him away?

I realize I've had the fingers of my free hand between my teeth for...what? At least the last few minutes. (Apparently I've been texting one handed.) I clench my fist and lay it on the bed beside me. (I end up biting my lip instead.)

 

**Baz (11:21 pm):** I've actually never done this before. At all.

**Baz (11:22 pm):** I've never even kissed anyone.

 

I take a deep breath, let it out, lay my mobile face down against my belly. Close my eyes. Breathe again. _Buzz._

_Buzz._

_Buzz._

I imagine what he might've said, horrible grammar and all.

 

_oh_

_well_

_nvm then_

 

Then I take another breath and look at my phone.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:22 pm):** what

**Fit Idiot (11:22 pm):** baz

**Fit Idiot (11:22 pm):** are you having me on

**Baz (11:24 pm):** Sure, Snow. This is all just for a laugh.

**Fit Idiot (11:24 pm):** your too bloody fit to have never been kissed

 

That... doesn't exactly sound like a rejection.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:24 pm):** you're 😉

 

There's a blush creeping up the back of my neck and I swear to God it started all the way down in my toes.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:24 pm):** fuck i didnt mean that i only like you for your looks

**Fit Idiot (11:24 pm):** i mean your well fit obviously

**Fit Idiot (11:24 pm):** but also like

**Fit Idiot (11:24 pm):** i feel liek any bloke who likes blokes who met you & got to know you’d want to kiss you, yeah?

**Fit Idiot (11:25 pm):** or like anybody tbh

 

_Did he just admit to wanting to kiss me?!_

I've no idea what to say to that, but fate intervenes and he changes the subject before I can figure out how to respond without completely embarrassing myself.

 

**Fit Idiot (11:26 pm):** so do you want to pick a question from that article i sent

**Fit Idiot (11:26 pm):** could be fun

 

I'm lying here smiling and blushing and trying not to think too hard about being kissed by Simon Salisbury. I unclench my fist, take my mobile in both hands.

_Sure, Snow. Let me have a look,_ I type, and then I scroll up our chat and click the link.

 

**SIMON**

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:26 pm):** Sure, Snow. Let me have a look.

 

I'm grinning.

I can't stop grinning. And also my heart feels like it's training for a marathon just now.

Like, holy _shit._

Baz just told me he's never been kissed. And I think I accidentally just told him that I want to kiss him. And also he's _never been kissed._ Christ, that's a lot of pressure. But also exciting, like, if he ever lets me kiss him.

I hope he'll let me kiss him.

He seems okay with me not knowing what I am, too, which is a relief, if I'm honest. I don't think I realized how nervous I was about that. 

Also he called me _Simon_. I liked that. I liked it a lot. 

I wonder what he'll pick from that list of questions.

I wonder if I'll see him tomorrow.

I wonder how long I should wait to ask him on a proper date.

_That_ gets my heart beating faster again. Maybe I won't think about that just now.

I think about kissing Baz instead, and then I realize that’s probably not a great idea if I don’t want to get myself worked up right now. The idea of that – kissing Baz or working myself up over kissing Baz or both – makes my face heat up. And also other places.

_Think unsexy thoughts think unsexy thoughts think unsexy thoughts._

It's hard to think of anything _but_ Baz at the moment, and he's an inherently sexy thought, isn't he?

Damn it.

_Nice old ladies. The queen. Bacon butties. Scones. Salt and vinegar crisps._

_Baz._

Fucking hell.

I get up and head to the kitchen because I'm hungry in addition to being well flustered at this point. I'm drinking milk out of the jug – which Mum hates, but I always forget until the spout's already touching my lips – when my mobile lights up and vibrates in my other hand.

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:31 pm):** I’d like to know why they’ve deemed it appropriate to make separate sections for men and women.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:32 pm):** You could ask anyone these questions.

 

I hadn't noticed that, honestly. I just scrolled through the questions. And also I was nervous as hell and the words were getting jumbled so how _could I have noticed?_

And now I'm thinking that I picked a totally shit article and probably he still thinks I'm a knobhead and it's _embarrassing_.

 

**Simon (11:32 pm):** i’m not like...endorsing the site or anythign

**Simon (11:32 pm):** just thought the questions could be fun 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:32 pm):** This entire site looks like something my cousin would curate.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:33 pm):** Mantelligence. Christ. 

 

I snort. Probably he's just being difficult. I think he _likes_ being difficult.

 

**Simon (11:33 pm):** just pick one 🙄

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:33 pm):** Fine.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:35 pm):** Would you rather always laugh at every funeral or always cry at every birthday party?

**Simon (11:35 pm):** omfg

**Simon (11:36 pm):** you would pick that one

 

* * *

 

 

**BAZ**

 

I wake up thinking about Simon Salisbury.

And _smiling_ about it, which is honestly unacceptable and obviously a result of still being half-asleep.

_I like you, though._

I don't know what time it is. We texted last night, for a long time. It was past two in the morning when I finally told him goodnight, and that was only because I could barely keep my eyes open. (They're still closed now, my face pressed into my pillow.)

I didn't _want_ to let him go. 

That simple truth sends a shock of anxiety through my veins, but I breathe it in. _Let_ it in.

I wonder how soon would be too soon to text him again. Would I come off as desperate if I texted him this morning? Or should I let him make the first move again? Is it my turn now, since he's texted me first the last two times? What's the fucking _etiquette_?

He hasn't asked me for a date or anything of the sort, which is a bit of a relief. And also a bit disappointing.

I wonder when I'll get the chance to see him again. I wonder when I'll be _ready_ to see him again. Probably I won't be.

I'm already thinking of kissing him. And _he_ might be thinking about kissing _me,_ by the sound of it. Which is absurd.

Or maybe it isn't.

_Maybe it isn't._

And, well. It would seem my body's thinking about a bit more than kissing at the moment. I push my hips down into the mattress and sigh. I never did get to finish what I started yesterday.

_You shouldn't,_ I think, but I _want._

I roll onto my back, lift my hips, push my pyjama bottoms down. I'm hitching my shirt up when I realize that I'm past trying to wank my feelings _away_ at this point. It isn't like that first time, when I thought I'd never see him again. _That_ is completely terrifying, and I swallow as I mentally tamp down my feelings.

_Don't_ . _Don't_ think.

So I don't, at least for the moment. At least not about what all this _means._

I imagine how _good_ it might feel to kiss Simon Salisbury instead, how good it'd be to be kissed by him. In the moment, no implications. His hands in my hair. His tongue against mine. 

My back arches and I gasp when I finally come. _Finally._

I lie here for a few minutes, my body sinking back down into the mattress, my eyes closed, and let my heart slow back down. _Fuck,_ but I needed that.

I reach over for my mobile once I've cleaned myself up, and _shit._

It's nearly noon, and my essay's due tomorrow, and I need to be at work by 2:30. 

I suppose I won't be talking to Simon again anytime soon.

 

**SIMON**

 

I spend the drive to work thinking about Baz.

I mean, I've been thinking about him since I woke up, honestly, but that was just a few hours ago. We were up late texting, and I came out of my bedroom around noon sleepy and clumsy and grinning.

Mum knew, of course. She never misses anything. I told her all about it over sandwiches (bacon butties, funnily enough), even the bits where I sort of accidentally lied about working at Starbucks. And how I'm nervous as all fuck to go in to work today. She smiled, and nodded, and squeezed my hand. Told me to just be myself.

That's what everyone keeps saying, but it doesn't make me any less nervous, really. _Just being myself_ doesn't change the fact that I'm about to see Baz again for the first time since the party. For the first time since we've been texting. For the first time since I told him I'm not gay. For the first time since I sort of told him I want to kiss him.

I texted him earlier, partly just to say hello but also to figure out if he's still sick. He said he's feeling a lot better but he couldn't talk because he was trying to finish some schoolwork before his shift. So he's definitely coming in. And I feel like I might be sick.

He starts at 2:30. I know because I checked the schedule yesterday. It seems like he usually starts at 2:30, actually. My shift doesn't start till 3:30, but I figured I might as well come in early. Get it over with. Hopefully everything doesn't go completely to shit.

I sit in my truck in the carpark and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. Bloody fucking hell, this was a stupid idea.

"Alright," I say out loud, and I feel like a fucking numpty but it feels better to let it out instead of keeping it in my head. "What's the worst that could happen?"

_Actually Baz hates you and then you're stuck awkwardly working in the same shop until you man up and quit because he was here first._

Right. That's...reassuring.

I take a deep breath and kill the engine. Here goes fucking nothing.

 

* * *

 

Dev is sitting at the break room table when I walk in, feet propped up like he owns the place. 

“Afternoon,” he says, smirking and taking a sip from his can of Coke. He checks his watch, and I can tell even from this far away that it’s posh. 

“Hey,” I say, then I shrug my duffle coat off and hang it on the coat rack. 

“Nice specs,” he says. “Meant to say so yesterday.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks." Him checking the time makes _me_ want to check the time, so I do. 2:20. Ten minutes till Baz's shift starts. 

Fuck, I need a distraction. Otherwise I might be sick all over the break room floor.

I pull my apron out of my locker before I shove all my things inside. When I turn back around, Dev is watching me.

I bunch my apron up in my hands. "You on tonight or…?"

"Nope," he says, popping the p. He looks... _smiley,_ and he's got his mobile out, and it almost seems like he's got it pointed in my direction.

"What're you–" I start, but then someone's punching in the key code to the break room, and I hear the door opening, and I whip around, and –

Baz walks in.

_Baz._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope Baz likes surprises


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises, Spills, & Small Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update, y'all! This one took me nearly three weeks—eep!— _but_ at least it's a long one? Next chapter should be out sooner than this, fingers crossed. Thanks so much for your patience. <3
> 
> Thanks as always to the lovely [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast), who have to deal with all my behind-the-scenes flailing. Y'all deserve an award. 
> 
> **content warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> 1\. Mental health  
> 2\. Shovel talk  
> 3\. Wank alert (non-descript) 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

**SIMON**

 

The only sound in the room right now is the door clicking shut behind Baz.

He's staring at me. 

He looks like he's seen a ghost, but only for a moment before his features drop into something more...bored?

I still feel like I might be sick.

"Um. Hi?" I say, and I don't mean for it to come out as a question but it fucking does anyway.

"This isn't Starbucks," Baz says, his words slurring slightly. Dev snorts from where he's sat at the table.

I turn to look at him. He's still got his mobile pointed my way. Well, mine and Baz's, now. "What're you doing?" I ask, but Baz has already stepped past me and pushed Dev's mobile away. I catch the scent of him as he walks by – something like the woods, and something citrusy. No hint of smoke.

"You're a complete tit, you know that?" Baz says. He sounds pissed off. “The fuck are you even doing here?” 

“Well,” I start, but then I realize he’s talking to Dev, not me.

“Came for the show, mate. Should’ve seen the look on your face—” Dev sounds like he can barely breathe for laughing, and honestly I’m getting a bit hacked off myself. I didn’t want an audience when I told Baz about me working here. Fuck, I should’ve just told him last night.

Dev's practically giggling until Baz wrestles his mobile away.

Dev’s eyes go wide. “No no _no_ don’t delete it! We could’ve played that at the wedding!” 

The _wedding_?! Actually I sort of like the sound of that, if I'm honest. Jesus Christ.

Baz nearly throws Dev’s mobile back on the table once he's done with it. “Why don’t you do everyone a favour and fuck off?” 

" _Relax_ , mate," Dev says. He's still sort of chuckling.

I can't see the look on Baz's face from where I'm standing, but Dev holds up his hands in a sort of _please don't punch me_ gesture. "Alright," he says, then he picks up his mobile and his Coke and makes to leave. Baz moves away when Dev tries to clap him on the shoulder, but I don't think Dev's too bothered about Baz being angry with him. He claps _me_ on the shoulder instead and winks at me as he walks by, and then he's gone. 

Baz is still stood with his back to me, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Hey,” I start, but he turns abruptly and pushes past me again, slipping his coat off as he goes. It’s the same one he was wearing at the party, the one I helped him find. Black. Wool. _Burberry._

My breath very nearly catches as I watch him hang his coat on the rack. I can see the muscles in his back shifting beneath his shirt as he moves, and his trousers…

Fuck, his _trousers._

They’re dark red, a slimmer cut than I would ever wear, but thank fuck he’s confident enough for them because _damn._ I swear to God I’ve never seen a more perfect arse. And his legs. They’re so bloody long, and I catch myself imagining him wrapping them around me and _no._ Can’t think about that right now. He’s got his hems rolled up, and his ankles are bare, and I guess this is what blokes used to feel like when they caught a glimpse of a woman’s ankle back when not showing your ankles was a thing. 

I like everything about Baz in these trousers, and also he’s posh as fuck and I’ve no idea how I’ll ever measure up but I decide not to think about that just now. 

He turns to the lockers without looking at me and starts emptying his pockets. I try not to stare at his arse, but the movement of his hands in his pockets is stretching the fabric over it and honestly I’ve no idea how I didn’t figure out this whole liking blokes thing sooner. Fucking hell.

I step towards him, just a bit. “Hey,” I say. “Hey, um. Yeah. I sort of work...here. Now.” 

Baz doesn’t say anything, just clicks the lock on his locker shut. I notice his nose is a bit crooked, like maybe it’s been broken. I wonder how that happened. (I feel like he and Dev getting in a scuffle as kids—or hell, _recently—_ wouldn't be a bad guess.)

He finally turns to face me, crossing his arms and leaning against the lockers. He swings one long leg over the other, and it takes everything in me not to sneak a glance at his crotch. (Yeah, _how_ did I not pick up on the liking blokes thing? Holy shit.)

“So,” Baz says. He looks me up and down without moving his head, those grey eyes taking me in. I can feel my face heating up as they land back on mine. “This isn’t Starbucks,” he says again. No lisp this time.

I grin at him.

 

**BAZ**

 

Adrenaline's coursing through me, though not in a completely unpleasant way (for once). 

Simon Salisbury is right fucking _here,_ right across the shop. 

I couldn't exactly stay to chat with him in the break room, not with my shift starting. And his wasn't supposed to start till 3:30, he said, but apparently he's asked Ebb to start early because I've just spotted him behind the café counter taking orders.

_Fuck_ , but he looks good in an apron.

I'm closing at the register again tonight—fucking typical—but at least I'm free of it till then. Which doesn't mean I'm free to just stare at Snow all night, but that's what I'm doing right now anyway.

_Snow._ He's not said anything about my new nickname for him, so he must not hate it. I figured it was only fair for us to be on a middle-name basis, and also it amuses me. What the fuck kind of middle name is _Snow_?

It might also be that calling him by his given name—calling him _Simon_ —makes him all too real.

I’m forced to drop my gaze when he glances over and catches me looking at him, blood rising in my neck and cheeks. This won’t do.

Someone else can man the information desk for now. I’ve a project to work on that might take me a few hours, anyway—changing out the books on one of the display tables for Christmas titles—so I grab my planogram and make my way towards the back room to grab a V-cart. I'm about halfway there when Dev appears from between two of the stacks and falls into step beside me. It scares the hell out of me.

I shoot him a look before setting my gaze forward. He’s probably the last person I’d like to see right now, but also the first, if I don’t count Snow. (I try not to count Snow.)

“The fuck do you want?” I say under my breath. I curl my lips upward as we pass a customer, just slightly, because we’re supposed to _evoke a friendly atmosphere_. Dev grins at her like an idiot even though he isn’t on the clock. Pavlovian response, I suppose. 

"Just making sure you aren't too put out,” he says. “I _just_ got back on your good side. Or, y'know. Whatever amounts to your good side."

I'm not sure why he thinks _that._ He's managed to embarrass me in front of Snow not once, but _three_ times over the last few days, if I count the name tag incident—which I _do._ Not to mention he cock-blocked me yesterday. From myself. Which sounds pathetic.

I suck on my teeth as I open the door to the back room. It smells like must and paper and ink back here. I like it.

There's a cart already filled with books that might be the one I'm looking for. I set my planogram on top of it and turn to face Dev, arms crossed.

"You knew he was working here?" I say.

"Yeah, mate." He starts playing with an empty cart. Standing on it. Stepping on it and lifting the wheels off the ground.

I try not to flinch when the wheels crash back onto the concrete floor. "And you didn't think this was pertinent information?" I hiss. My voice is hushed even though we’re the only two in here, but you never know when someone might barge in.

He shrugs. "Well, I _did._ But he asked me not to tell."

I roll my eyes. "You've known me for eighteen years, you twat. You've known him, what? Eight days?"

Dev levels me with a look. I don't like it. "Don't act like you don't know _exactly_ how many days it's been since that party."

"My point stands. Also you know I _hate_ surprises, you dick."

"Which is why I wanted to get it on video. Obviously. But you went and ruined that, didn't you?"

"You have an incredibly twisted sense of personal boundaries."

"But you love me."

"I bloody well do _not._ " I turn back to my cart, retrieve my planogram, start making sure each title’s accounted for.

Dev can't keep his big mouth shut for more than ten seconds at a time, so he yammers on. “I thought it was weird, you know, that he didn’t want to tell you he worked here. Especially since it was me who gave him your number.”

I turn back around. “Excuse me, you did _what_?"

Dev gives me a look like I should know what he’s talking about. “Gave him your number?” he says. “What, he didn’t tell you? How’d you think he got it, magic?”

“I gave my number to his _friend_ to give to _him_ , you complete tit. The fuck are you even on about?”

“The other day when he got the job. Your day off? He asked after you, so I gave him your number.”

I take a deep breath. “Dev.”

“What? _Someone_ had to move things along—”

“ _You_ gave my number to a _complete stranger,_ you _moron._ Without my consent.”

Dev rolls his eyes. “I met him at the party.”

“I’d hardly call that a meeting.”

"And you making eyes at him the whole time was consent enough—"

"Dubious at best."

“And he works here, so—”

“You realize you could’ve handed my number over to a serial killer. You could’ve been complicit in _murder_.”

“Oh my _God,_ you’re such a fucking drama queen.”            

There's a box on the table next to me that's filled with rejected mass market paperbacks, stripped and ready to be disposed of. I take one and smack Dev in the back of the head with it. 

He snorts, the bastard. "You're only proving my point." He takes the book from me, tosses it back in the box.

I sigh, pick up my planogram again, take hold of the cart. I gesture at the empty one with my chin. "If you're going to follow me around, at least make yourself useful. Bring that." 

 

**SIMON**

 

Ebb was happy to let me start early, but maybe it wasn't the best idea. I mean, I've already mucked up two different drinks since Baz came back out onto the floor.

I can't stop staring at him.

I mean, I _can_ , but it's well difficult, especially with him looking like _that._

I never knew a bloke could look so good in floral-print shirt. Then again I’ve never paid any mind to florals at all. 

I guess it’s more just Baz who looks good, just like. In general.

He’s been changing out books on a table for as long as he’s been out here, and I don’t always have a good view of him, but it’s worth taking the chance to look anyway. There’s a walkway from the café to the information desk, with rows of shelves of books on either side. I mean, there’s rows of shelves of books _everywhere_ in here, and they definitely don’t enhance the view. Baz’s table is halfway hidden behind a shelf from where I’m standing, so mostly I’ve just been watching his head float around. He’s tall enough, to be a floating head.

He’s got his dark hair knotted back, and I’ve been trying to decide if I like it better this way or down. I don’t think it matters; Baz just looks _good._ So good. 

Dev's been hovering around him the whole time, so I guess they're back on good terms. (Or whatever's normal for them, I don't know.) I'm pretty sure Dev's caught me staring at Baz more than once by now, but I can't say I care.

Oh. Actually he's headed this way. Dev is, I mean. And he's _smiley_ again, which is just his default setting, I guess.

I don’t know if I should still be hacked off with him or not. I’m not sure I _am_ still hacked off with him or not. How’s it possible to stay mad at someone who looks so fucking happy all the time?

“Hiya,” he says, leaning against the pastry case that way he does.

“Hey,” I say. “Can I get you something, or…?”

“Nah,” he says, looking around to make sure no one else can hear us, I guess. I look with him. All the customers are sat at tables with their drinks and books and laptops, and Ebb’s clattering around the back, and the little bell on the café door isn’t ringing. We’re about as alone as we can be. 

“What’s up, then?” I say. I’m not really sure how to talk to him. It wasn’t like this with Agatha; Penny was our mutual friend. We were _all_ friends. I mean, we _are_ still, I assume. But Agatha didn’t have any other good friends that I had to impress. None that ever came around, anyway. I don’t know that I need to impress Dev, exactly, but I don’t want him thinking I’m rubbish for Baz, either.

Christ, I’m shit at this.

Dev leans in a bit. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you that if you hurt him, I’ll strangle you with your own guts. Or something equally unpleasant. Yeah?” He’s still fucking smiling. It’s unnerving.

“I won’t,” I say. “I’m not. This.” I take a breath. Fuck, I really am shit at this. I look around again, just to make sure no one’s crept up on us. They haven’t. “I’m not fucking around, alright?”

Dev smiles wider, if that’s possible. “Good,” he says. “Also, were you ever going to tell me that you already had Baz’s number when I gave it to you, or was I just supposed to find that out myself?”

I hadn't thought of that, honestly. I think I was too focused on the fact that I actually had Baz's number. And then the next time I saw Dev I was too focused on the fact that Baz wasn't texting me back. "Sort of forgot, sorry," I say.

"Baz was none too pleased when I mentioned that. Said I'd taken the chance on giving his number to a murderer."

I'm not really sure what to say to that. "Um."

"Which is ridiculous. But you'll soon find he has a bit of a flair for the dramatic."

"Well, I know _that_ ," I say, thinking on how Baz reacted to that article I sent him yesterday.

"Just so you know, he's probably going to come over here and order this complicated drink he likes. Probably just to fluster you. Make you blush. That sort of thing."

"Does he do that with all the baristas? The bloke baristas, I mean."

"Nah. He's just kind of an arsehole. A dramatic arsehole who can't seem to properly show affection."

"Right…"

"One more thing," he says, and he reaches over to nick some receipt paper and my permanent marker. He slides the paper back to me after he's written on it. "That's me. Just in case."

Then he’s gone.

 

**BAZ**

 

I don't know what the universe is playing at, but how the bleeding hell am I supposed to get any semblance of work done when Simon Salisbury is stood just across the shop looking like _that_?

I've been questioning my reality since I walked into the break room a few hours ago, because he looks like something my imagination conjured up for me to pass the time. He's wearing _horn-rimmed glasses,_ for fuck's sake. I'm weak for a man in glasses. It's like he levels up every bloody time I see him.

It's a damn good thing I had a wank this morning. Not that I couldn't go for another.

Even so, the information desk is about as close to him as I can stand to be right now. More than a stone’s throw. More than two stone’s throws, really. I can just barely make out his features from here, though I can’t properly see his eyes behind his glasses, which is a damned relief. I _can_ tell he’s rolled up his sleeves again, which seems like bait, honestly, though being warm behind the counter seems a more likely explanation. Or maybe he just likes rolling up his sleeves. 

I sneak a glance Snow’s way and see him at his register taking a customer's order with obvious enthusiasm. Not looking at me. I'm not sure how I feel about that. 

I’m not sure how I feel. Full stop. 

Luckily my own customers have been keeping me busy, and I’ve resorted to nervously and prematurely straightening the bookshelves any time I’m alone.  

I’ve managed to avoid him thus far, but I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up, especially considering I’ve caught him staring at me on more than one occasion. Which means he’s caught me attempting to stare at him. 

Oh, fuck, he’s just caught me now. 

I look down at the time. 5:59. That’s close enough to clock out for my break, so I do.

I make my way back to the break room as quickly as I can manage. You have to do that, sometimes, to avoid people asking questions when you’re off the clock. (A strange choice in my opinion, putting the timeclock at the information desk.) Which isn’t the _only_ thing I’m avoiding. I’m purposely moving between the stacks so that Snow can’t spot me and call me over there. I don’t know that he _would_ —I don’t know him well enough—but I wouldn’t put it past him.

I _am_ hungry, despite my nerves. A good thing, that; I know what it’s like to be so anxious I can’t even bring myself to eat, and I certainly don’t need to go there again. 

I’ve half an hour for lunch, and I’ve not brought anything with me today. Usually I’d just order something from the café, but. _Well._

Snow’s over there, somehow simultaneously making and ruining my evening. I don't like change, and it's not like I was expecting Simon bloody Salisbury to infiltrate my workplace.

I think of my therapists over the years, all of them yielding some variation of the same infernal catchphrase: “ _You have to expose yourself to the fear to conquer it, Basil.”_

I’ll admit that their advice likely applies here, but also the thought of just walking up to Simon Salisbury and ordering a sandwich isn’t something I’m prepared to do right now. I’m not ready.

_You’ll never be ready. Rip the plaster off, Basilton._

I don’t.

Instead I gather my wallet and coat from the break room and buy dinner at the pasty shop down the way.

There’s not much time left to eat once I get back to Nico’s. I wonder if there’s anywhere I could sit and covertly watch Snow while I eat, but then I decide that might be too desperate, even for me. (Really, there’s nowhere covert to sit.)

I take the long way to the break room, out of his line of sight. I already know he won’t be back there; his break is scheduled after mine. I checked.

I’m about halfway through my dinner when my mobile lights up on the table next to me.

It’s not Snow, I know that much. No mobiles on the floor. Also I can’t imagine him finding the time (or the coordination) to text me between orders. Still, I almost hope it’s him. Which is moronic, considering I couldn’t even bring myself to walk up to him and order dinner. 

I swipe my screen and find that it's Dev. Of course.

 

**Imbecilic Relation (6:19 pm):** so when are you and prince charming going to meet outside of work

 

What a question. I’ve not even been able to face him _at_ work.

I set down my pasty and wipe my hands on my napkin. Check the time.

 

**Baz (6:20 pm):** You realize I’ve only known for the last four hours that seeing him here was an option, yes? At least in this capacity.

**Imbecilic Relation (6:20 pm):** whats that got todo with anything

**Voice of Reason (6:20 pm):** Hold on. 

**Voice of Reason (6:20 pm):** I’d like it to go on record that I reminded Dev that you hate surprises and that he should’ve told you

**Baz (6:21 pm):** You knew as well, then.

**Voice of Reason (6:21 pm):** To be fair he made a convincing argument about getting it on video  

**Voice of Reason (6:21 pm):** Kind of a shame that you deleted it

**Baz (6:22 pm):**

**Baz (6:22 pm):** Also, I resent you both.

**Imbecilic Relation (6:22 pm):** ok but you didn't answer my question

**Imbecilic Relation (6:22 pm):** oh you know what

**Imbecilic Relation (6:23 pm):** we should do a group thing

**Baz (6:23 pm):** I think not.

**Voice of Reason (6:23 pm):** How are things going today so far? Good?

**Baz (6:23 pm):** I'm working.

**Imbecilic Relation (6:23 pm):** poor excuse imo

**Voice of Reason (6:24 pm):** It's the first time he's seen Simon since the party. Probably nervous. You nervous, B?

**Baz (6:24 pm):** As all fuck.

**Imbecilic Relation (6:24 pm):** ok but that's why im saying  a group thing would be good

**Imbecilic Relation (6:24 pm):** you get to hang with him but you'd still have us to make sure you don't make an arse of yourself

**Baz (6:25 pm):** Titillating argument.

**Imbecilic Relation (6:25 pm):** kinky

**Voice of Reason (6:25 pm):** He does have a point. Might take some stress off to do something as a group. Have him bring his friend

**Baz (6:25 pm):** I'm not ready. 

**Baz (6:26 pm):** I need to adjust to this first. Him being here. And text with him some more. Then we can talk about that.

**Voice of Reason (6:26 pm):** Fair enough

**Imbecilic Relation (6:26 pm):** fineeeeeeeee

**Imbecilic Relation (6:26 pm):** but I want you to know your a fun ruiner

**Baz (6:27 pm):** I'm perfectly fine with that. Now fuck off, if you'd be so kind. I need to finish my dinner.

 

**SIMON**

 

I’m bloody starving by the time my lunch break rolls around at 6:30.

I’m a little late clocking out, actually, because suddenly we’ve got a line and it’s just Ebb and me and I’m not going to leave her to fend for herself, even if I’m nowhere near her level.

She takes orders and I make the drinks, which is more than a little nerve-wracking, if I'm honest, but I'll need to get my speed up to par sometime. And Ebb says it's good practice. She doesn't seem at all bothered by the line of people, or that I'm probably moving slower than she would.

I'm a bit bothered, though.

I keep getting afraid that my sweat's going to drip right into someone's drink—it's so bloody hot back here—but when I said as much to Ebb, she just quipped, " _Eh, won't hurt 'em. Good source of electrolytes."_ Which sounds like something my mum would say, honestly. (I still don't want to sweat in someone's coffee.)

We work together to clear the line, coffee after coffee, latte after latte, until finally there’s only one person left in line, a girl probably about my age. I stand next to Ebb and write on the girl’s cup while Ebb rings her up.

It’s a Pumpkin Spice Latte, which everybody seems to be obsessed with for some reason. (I tried one the other day and didn’t like it. Mum says she doesn’t like them, either.) I pump her cup full of syrup, then grab the milk, then I’m at the espresso machine. (Maybe I _am_ getting faster at this.)

The customer is already waiting at the counter. I smile at her as her espresso drips. “Hiya,” I say. She smiles back before looking down at her mobile. Well. Some people are chatty, I’ve found. Lots of others just like to mind their own business.

I’m steaming her latte when I look up again. (It can get _boring,_ steaming lattes.) The girl—Rachael, according to her cup—is watching something. 

I follow her line of sight, and there he is. Baz. With a customer in tow. He must be back from his lunch then.

His strides are long, and graceful, and _fuck._  I really think I could stare at his arse all day for the rest of my life and never get bored. _Especially_ in these trousers. Probably without them, too, honestly.

I _really_ can't think about that right now. Not here. But it's well difficult, isn't it?

I'm just thinking about later, about how I'll get to talk to him after work. Text him, hopefully, maybe send him more of the questions from that article. Agitate him a bit, just for fun. 

That’s when he glances up at me. That’s about the time the piping hot latte I’m steaming boils over my hand.

I drop it.

“Shhh…!” I trail off; I’m not sure it’s alright to swear in front of customers, even when you’ve bloody well burned yourself.

Ebb’s next to me in a flash. “Steady on, Simon!”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my hand. I’m not rightly sure who I’m apologizing to, and my fingers are starting to feel like they've been lit on fire. _Fuck._

“Run that under cold water. Go on now. I’ll take care of it.”

“But—”

“Go on. S’alright. Your skin’s more important than a coffee, innit?”

“Right…"

Ebb nods in the direction of the break room, her dirty blonde fringe coming loose from behind her ears. "Go. You're late for your lunch as it is."

"Yeah, alright. Um. Thanks."

I do as she says, or as she nodded, rather, heading to the break room and shaking my hand all the while. I'm already back here and running my hand under cold water when I realize I've forgotten to clock out. (The time clock's at the information desk, which is sort of weird, but.) I guess Ebb can probably fix my timecard, anyway.

Fuck, I feel awful for leaving her with my mess, but she told me to go. It's probably fine, really; little things like spilled coffee don't seem to bother Ebb. Not much seems to bother Ebb, actually.

And Baz.

Fuck, _Baz._

Did Baz see that? I mean, he had to have. He was right _there_. Looking at me. He was gone when I looked up, after I burned myself, but he was helping someone find a book, so. 

Goddamn it, I burned myself because Baz caught me staring at his arse.

I try not to think about that. The fact that he caught me, I mean. Not the fact that I was staring at him. I can’t help _that._

My hand feels better, I think, so I turn off the tap and turn to the fridge to grab my dinner—leftover roast beef and mash and vegetables that Mum made the other day—but my fingers go back to stinging almost as soon as I do. I’m hungry, so I stick my food in the microwave before I stick my hand back under the water again.

It’s not _too_ bad, not really; and I’m sure I’ll be able to manage work the rest of the evening. I’m just not sure if I need to wrap it up. _Should_ I wrap it up? I feel like Mum’s always said that it’s good for wounds to get some air. _Is_ this a wound? It’s not like I’m bleeding or anything. My skin’s a little red, but it’s not like I’ve broken out in blisters.

I can’t remember the last time I burned myself. Mum keeps an aloe plant in the kitchen for burns. She’s clumsy like me, but it’s more a precaution than anything else, I think. _Better safe than sorry,_ she’s always said.

I wonder if they have an aloe plant here.

I think about texting her, my mum, but she’s probably getting ready for work right now. She’s going to have to deal with other people’s problems all night, people with _real_ wounds, so I decide not to bother her about it. I’ll just use her aloe plant when I get home later, if I still need it. 

I shut the water off again when the microwave goes off. The room smells like roast beef and potatoes and it’s got my stomach practically falling in on itself. I use my apron as a makeshift oven mitt to pull my food out; I don’t want to burn myself again, and I definitely don’t want to drop my food.

My dinner’s gone almost as soon as I sit down. _“How do you even taste it, Si?”_ Penny always asks, but Mum’s the same way. I guess I learned how to eat watching her, and there’s not much time to properly savour your food in the A&E. (I _can_ still taste it, for the record, and I think it’s even better than it was fresh the other night, if that’s possible.) 

I snap the lid back on my empty container and drum my fingers against the table. Check the time on the microwave clock. My lunch isn’t even half over yet; it’s about seven o’clock, and I didn’t even get back here till around a quarter to.

I think about going out on the floor and looking for Baz, but I’m too embarrassed that he saw me fucking up my job the way he did. Probably he thinks I’m some idiot who can’t even manage to make a bloody latte. Which I guess is a little true right now, but _still._

I get up and grab my mobile from my locker instead, shaking my hand out again as I go. (It still smarts, just a little.)

I text Penny.

 

**Simon (7:01 pm):** im a fucking idiot

**Penelope (7:02 pm):**???

**Penelope (7:02 pm):** Has something actually happened, or are you being dramatic again?

**Simon (7:02 pm):** uh

**Simon (7:02 pm):** both i guess

**Penelope (7:03 pm):** Oh, Simon.

**Penelope (7:03 pm):** What’s happened then? Was Basil put off by your splendid reveal?

 

I sigh. Penny didn’t think the whole surprising Baz thing was a good idea, especially after I told her that I ended up lying to him about working at a Starbucks.

_“How do you think you’d feel Simon, if the roles were reversed? If suddenly Baz was just_ there _in one of your safe spaces?”_

_“Well, I’d be well chuffed, wouldn’t I?”_

_“Simon…”_

And that was about as far as that conversation went. I’d not _thought_ about how I’d feel if it were the other way round, because I never bloody _think_ , but how am I supposed to know how I’d feel about it anyway, if it’s not happened?

Probably I should’ve told him last night, but I was so nervous about how he’d react. Like, what if he didn’t come in to work again, just because I was here? I don’t know that I could handle that. I thought I’d be done worrying about it, once it was done, but that’s not really how it’s turned out, is it? Things _seemed_ alright, after Dev left us alone in the break room earlier, but Baz had to clock in so it’s not like we got to really talk about it.

 

**Simon (7:03 pm):** idk maybe

**Simon (7:03 pm):** ive not had much chance to talk to him

**Simon (7:03 pm):** i just feel like a bit of a numpty

**Simon (7:04 pm):** we ahd this big line & i was working fast & he walked by &

**Simon (7:04 pm):** god pen have you seen his arse

**Simon (7:04 pm):** like

**Simon (7:04 pm):** its bloody perfect everything about hism bloody perfcet & idk

**Penelope (7:04 pm):** What happened when he walked by, exactly?

**Simon (7:04 pm):** oh

**Simon (7:05 pm):** so i was making a drink & he looked at me & I dropped it & burne d myself

 

My hand stings when I type that, just a bit, as if I need any more of a reminder about what a prat Baz probably thinks I am.

 

**Simon (7:05 pm):** probably he thinks im an idiot

**Penelope (7:05 pm):** Probably he thinks you’re human, Simon.

**Penelope (7:05 pm):** Basil’s not perfect. No one is. He’s human, just like you. And he’s probably nervous as hell, just like you. It’ll be fine. 

**Simon (7:06 pm):** sounds fake but ok

**Penelope (7:06 pm):** Simon. Seriously. 

**Penelope (7:06 pm):** Talk to him, when you get a chance. 

**Simon (7:06 pm):** just be myself yeah ik

**Penelope (7:06 pm):** I know you’re being sarcastic, but yes. That’s it. 

 

I thank her and flip over to my chat with Baz. It’s not like he’ll get anything I send him right now, I guess, but maybe that’s easier? 

I type, _look im sorry I didn't tell you the truth about where i work but i was nervous & it was stupid & i really hope you don't hate me now & still want to talk. Bc I want to talk to you. & also j like to look at you & it's just about killing me. I mean, it's definitely burned me so far, so _

Then I decide that sounds stupid as fuck, so I delete it.

 

**BAZ**

 

It's near eight o'clock when I finally work up the nerve to walk over to the café and face Snow.

I saw what happened to him, earlier, when he burned his hand. And, well. Of course my arsehole brain had something to say about _that._

It started the way it always does, with a flicker of fear down deep in my guts, an internal contraction, almost, the idea that I’d somehow caused it—that _I’d_ somehow burned him myself—coiling inside my mind.

_Your fault,_ it said as I searched with eyes and fingers for the book my customer had asked for— _what was it?_

_Your fault_ , it said as I lowered myself to a squat to look on the lower shelves. I could very nearly feel my Adam’s apple bobbing and catching in my throat as I swallowed, my mouth dry.   

_Your fault,_ it said as I found the blasted book— _Infinite Jest,_ it was, and wasn’t that my whole bloody life wrapped up into two compact words—as I got to my feet, as I handed the tome over, as I nodded when the bloke thanked me.

_You’ve probably sent him to hospital,_ it said when I passed the café again and saw that Simon had gone.

My stomach lurched in that sickeningly familiar way. _No,_ I told myself. _No, he’s on his lunch break._

No. _You’ve sent him to hospital. You’ve done this. You._

That’s when I found myself in the loo, leant over the sink, my knuckles white as I clutched at the porcelain.

_Your fault,_ it said, and I tightened my grip as I fought to keep myself from arguing with it.

“Don’t.” It came out a whisper even though I was in there alone. I breathed in deep, which wasn’t exactly something I wanted to do in a public toilet, but my chest was tight and I needed the air. 

Still, It isn’t an easy thing, not to argue with it. Not to spur it on. 

_He’s right across the hall,_ I thought. _In the break room_. 

_Your fault._

I could’ve _checked,_ I could’ve walked in there and seen him sat at the table, all bronze curls and boring blue eyes and strong forearms with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Freckles. Moles. Horn-rims. That grin. 

But that’d be giving in. So I didn’t.

I breathed deep again, slowly, slowly.

_Yes,_ I thought. _Yes, it’s your fault. Probably given him third degree burns, too. Hospital would be a good place for him._ My eyes were closed as I repeated those words over and over like a prayer, some of my hair coming loose and falling around my face.

And then my breathing evened out. My heartbeat slowed. My mind quieted. Gradually, gradually.

I nodded at myself in the mirror. Tucked the loose strands of hair behind my ears. Washed my hands. Left the loo.

And now Simon Salisbury is watching me as I carry myself closer and closer to his register. He’s criminally good-looking, even with his curls in utter disarray. Especially with his curls in disarray, maybe. 

There’s no one in line. It’s nearly closing time, now, and it’s still not terribly busy in the evenings despite us inching closer to Christmas. We’ll have a rush of last-minute shoppers later in the month, I’m sure, and the shop will start staying open an extra hour next week. My exams will be over by then.

I wonder if I’ll have had a first date yet. A first kiss. 

Snow’s grinning ear to ear when I stop on the other side of his counter, and my heart’s beating in my throat. 

“Hey,” he says. Just like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

“Snow,” I say with a nod—and no lisp, thank _fuck._  

My eyes fall to his hands—he’s fidgeting with a Sharpie—to his burn. It doesn’t look bad, not at all. A little bit red. I swallow the compulsion to apologize to him, then swallow it again. Caffeine probably isn't the best idea for me right now, actually. Or the sugar. 

Right, I'll settle for a decaf.

“Hey,” Snow says again. 

I cock an eyebrow at him, even though I recognize he’s doing marginally better than I am at communicating right now. What do you say to the person you’ve been trading stares with all evening, the person who kept you up texting last night, the person you want to kiss?

_The person you want to kiss._

I nod at his hand. “Clumsy, Snow?” Oh _fuck,_ of course. Resort to veiled insults. _Original._

He huffs a laugh, a lovely little thing. I force myself to look at him, then, and see the blush creeping out of his collar, across his nose and cheeks. Or maybe it’s just the lighting.

“Yeah,” he says, holding up his burnt hand for emphasis.

“You should be more careful.”

“Yeah.”

Fuck, if this isn’t the most awkward semblance of a conversation I’ve ever had in my life, I’m not sure what is. 

“Do you think you could make me something?” I say. “Without causing further injury to yourself.”

“Those your terms, then?” He’s grinning again, crookedly. It’s work not to melt onto the sticky café floor.

I give him a quirk of my lip that _might_ be considered a smile. “They are.”

He’s practically bouncing as he grabs a cup from the stack, which makes the succeeding pause both abrupt and clumsy. I think he’s just realized he hasn’t asked me which size I’d like. “Um,” he says, shrugging.

I consider telling him this size is fine—it’s the one I’d normally buy—but I don’t.

“No, actually. The bigger one.” I wait for him to awkwardly replace the cup with the larger size, and then I start rattling off my order at him.

He’s still writing on the cup after I’ve finished. Part of me hopes I haven’t flustered him. Most of me hopes I have.

His blue eyes flick up to mine. His glasses have slipped down his nose, and he’s still serving up that crooked grin. “Right,” he says, setting his marker down. Then I think he tries to wink at me, which doesn’t work at all. I’m honestly not sure whether it ruins or enhances his entire aesthetic.

He uses the back of his hand to nudge his glasses back into place, and then his back’s to me as he starts pumping syrup. I take in every inch of him while I have the chance. The span of his back and the broadness of his shoulders make me want to pull him to me by the beltloops. There’s a mole at the back of his neck, right beneath his hairline, that I could press my lips to. And those bloody forearms pumping that bloody syrup. Jesus Christ.

Snow turns and looks around like he’s not sure what to do next. He probably isn’t. “What’s this concoction anyway?” he says, dropping to a squat to pull the cream from the fridge beneath the counter.

“Pumpkin Mocha Breve,” I say. “I created it myself.”

“I can tell, yeah.” He stands up, pours the cream just the way I told him to, squats again, puts it back in the fridge. I watch the fabric of his trousers stretch over his thighs as the muscle works beneath. I think my mouth's dried out again.

There's a pull in my belly when he sets to work at the espresso machine, but I breathe into it. "Decaf," I remind him.

His eyes are focused on the job in front of him. "Yeah, yeah," he says. He doesn't look up at me, which pays off in the end, because he doesn't burn himself again.

He's extra generous with the whipped cream, and I nearly have to look away as he shakes the damn cannister. (The scenarios playing in my mind are far too lewd to be thinking at work, and also I'm slightly concerned to be thinking them at all. I've been set off by a can of whipped cream, for Christ's sake. How bloody desperate can I get?)

He caps my finished drink, slides it gingerly across the counter, grins at me.

I reach out, and I think my heart nearly lurches out of my throat when my fingers brush his around the cup. 

I could swear he lingers, just for a moment, but maybe that's wishful thinking. Then he whips his hand away like I've just, well. Like I've just burned him.

It scares the hell out of me.  My heart sets itself to hammering, and I  actually jump, very nearly knocking my drink over. 

Snow huffs a laugh. "Gotcha," he says. "Wrong hand, anyway."

_Fuck._

"Jesus Christ, Snow." It comes out as more of a hiss than I'd like.

His grin falters, but just a bit. "Sorry, um."

I pick up my drink and hold it in my shaking hands. It's warm. A comfort. "I still need to pay," I say, which is stupid, honestly, but also true.

"Oh, right. Yeah." He starts punching in the buttons on his register. "What's your number?" he asks.

I give him my employee number for the discount, then my card. 

He hands it back, and our fingers brush _again_ , and all I want is to hold onto him or push him away. I let him pull his hand back instead.

A silence passes between us, and it's only a few seconds in real time but it feels like an eternity. 

Simon breaks it. "Hope I got it right."

"Me too," I say.

"You gonna try it?"

"Not yet. It's too hot. I don't want to pull a Snow and burn myself."

"Cheeky." His eyes dart down to my lips before landing on mine again. "You'll tell me, yeah?"

"Tell you what? How completely awful it is?" Fucking _fuck_ , why am I like this? _Why?_

He actually snorts, which I suppose is a good sign. "Right."

I check my watch. _Shit,_ I was due at the register nearly five minutes ago. I'm never late. 

"Well." I nod at him. "I have to—"

His eyes go wide behind his glasses. "Oh, sh— _crap._ You've got the register, yeah?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Yeah."

"Sorry," he says. "Go on."

"Alright." I back away a step before turning around.

"Oh, and Baz?" Simon calls after me.

I turn my head over my shoulder, just a bit. "Good lord, Snow, _what?_ "

"Just. I hope you like it."

I don't notice the drawing until I've relieved the other cashier and get myself set up at my register. Simon's drawn it on my cup where my name should be. 

A tyrannosaurus—I _think;_ I don't know what else it could be—with sticks for arms and the saddest expression I've ever seen on a doodle.

It's the most adorable and the most hideous thing I've ever seen.

 

**SIMON**

 

I lose track of Baz after close.

He was at his register until the shop closed at nine. I like his register; I could see him there from mine, and every now and again he’d look up at me. Of course every time he looked at me he’d walk out to straighten the displays at the front of the shop (they looked fine to me, even without the tidying). Maybe he was nervous. Or maybe he just needed something to do. 

I hope he liked that drink I made him. And my doodle. (I couldn’t help myself.)

I saw him walk off into the stacks once the doors were locked, and I must've been looking down when he came back because I haven't seen him since. 

I'm afraid he's actually gone home when I don't see him in the break room when I get here around ten. I was hoping to talk to him. Make sure he doesn't think I'm a complete stalker. I mean, I don't _think_ he does, but. 

I take the time to properly fold my apron, just to give Baz more time to get here. Maybe that’s wishful thinking, I don’t know. This is only my third time closing, and so far, we all walk out to the carpark together. Maybe Baz doesn’t like walking out with everyone else.

I’m scrolling through my mobile just to pass more time when I hear a door open just behind me. I turn at the noise, and there’s Baz and Nicodemus emerging from a tiny room together. I think that’s where the tills get counted at the end of the night. I guess I should’ve thought of that.

Baz must catch me staring at him, because he raises an eyebrow at me. That only makes me blush. I like it.

And also I’ve no idea what to say to him, now that he’s stood next to me turning the code on his lock.

“Snow,” he says. He doesn’t look at me, and I sort of want to look away from him but I can’t. He’s smirking, just a little. I wonder about his nose again.

“Hey,” I say, then finally pull my eyes away to stare down at his shoes. They’re posh—Oxfords, I think they’re called. (His ankles are still lovely.) I’m not posh at all, obviously, but I look even less so stood next to him in the stupid non-slip shoes I have to wear. "How d'you do that?"

Baz doesn’t look at me, just pockets his mobile and pulls his keys out of his locker. "Do what?"

I _want_ him to look at me, but also I don’t. "Don't your feet get sweaty?" I say, which is fucking _stupid._

_That’s_ when he looks at me. "What? No."

Fuck. "But you're not wearing socks."

Baz quirks his eyebrow _again_. And it sets me off _again_ , heat creeping up the back of my neck.

"I am,” he says. “There _is_ such a thing as a no-show sock, Snow."

I swallow. "Right." God, I feel nearly as stupid as I did the first time I saw him. _Tyrannosaurus._ Fucking hell. Of all the things I could’ve asked him the first time seeing him since that party, I go for asking if his feet get sweaty. _I’m_ sweating now. Jesus. 

"Okay, you know what, can we talk?" I blurt. Damn it.

He looks slightly startled, then bored, just like when he walked in and found me here earlier today. "About?"

"Sorry, nothing bad. Like. Just talk."

"Alright then, Snow."

"Right."

That's when Nicodemus and Ebb come out of the managers' office. "Ready all?" Nicodemus says.

Baz and I nearly collide as we try to take our coats off the rack at the same time. He still smells like wood and something citrusy. It's nice. Probably I smell like sweat, but I try not to think about that.

He walks away from me as he slips his coat on, opening the microwave and— _oh._ He’s still got the drink I made him. What’d he call it? _Pumpkin Mocha Breve._

He passes me on his way to the door, raising an eyebrow at me. Again. I grin and follow him out.

We walk to the time clock together—Baz, Ebb, Nicodemus, the other bookseller who closed (I can’t remember her name; I’m _shit_ with names), and me—then out to the carpark. I stay next to Baz but we don’t talk to each other, which is fine. It’s nice enough just to have him next to me, to see his breath mist in the winter air. Mine’s misting too. I mean, everyone’s is, obviously, but like. We’re misting _next_ to each other. Together. 

Everyone says their goodbyes and heads off to their respective cars. I’m not sure what Baz drives, otherwise I’d walk him to it. I end up stopping in the middle of the carpark instead, shoving my hands down into my pockets as he squares himself in front of me.

He takes a sip of his coffee, a slow one, his grey eyes boring into me from behind the cup. Then he lowers his drink, and I think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, so.  I guess it’s up to me. 

“So,” I say. “About this. Um.”

Baz raises an eyebrow at me, which I guess must be his signature move. (Do _I_ have a signature move? Maybe?)

“ _This_ ?” he repeats. “What’s _this,_ Snow?” His words slur, just a bit. It’s cute, really. 

I shrug. Maybe _that’s_ my signature move. “Oh, well. Y’know. The whole…me working here…thing.”

“I see.” Baz lifts his drink to his lips again. What a lucky fucking cup. 

“Yeah. I just, well. I’m sorry, yeah? I feel like you probably think I’m stalking you, and I swear I’m not, but I don’t know if it matters that I’m not. I mean, then Dev said you told him I was a murderer—”

“Dev said _what_?”

"Well, not exactly. Not exactly like that. He said you said I might be a murderer…or something. Since he gave me your number. I didn’t ask him for it, I promise. I’d already gotten it from Penny, and Dev just gave it to me, and I swear I wouldn’t have done this if you’d told Penny you didn’t want me to. I mean, I guess I’d still have the job; I sort of got that before your number. But also it was sort of an accident. Like, I thought there’d be an actual process, but Ebb just gave me the job and I took it because I need the money. Oh, and I definitely would’ve been put out, by the way, like. If you didn’t want to talk to me. But I’d’ve dealt with it. I wouldn’t have made you…and. _Fuck.”_

Baz blinks at me. Then his perfect, pouty lips part, and I’d love to slot mine between them, but I can’t. Not now. “Are you quite finished?” he asks.

I shrug. Again. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Alright, good. I was getting tired just listening to that. I can’t imagine what it’s done to your mind.” 

I sigh. “Just. You don’t hate me?”

“You’re _allowed_ to work wherever you please. I don’t get a say in that.”

“Yeah but, like. I don’t want it to be weird. And I’m sorry I lied.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Simon. It’s _fine_.”

I feel myself grinning at him. “You called me Simon.”

“What of it?”

“Nothing, just. I like it.”

“Well. Don’t get used to it, Snow. I’m rather intent on keeping us on a middle-name basis.” He starts walking.

I fall into step beside him. “For now,” I say.

That’s when Baz stops next to the poshest fucking car I’ve ever seen—a wine-colored Jaguar. I think my jaw actually drops. My truck’s only a few spots over, and there’s no cars between right now, and God, it looks like actual rubbish compared to this.

“This. _This_ is your car?”

The hand that isn’t holding his drink is inside his coat pocket, and his keys must be in there because he beeps the car unlocked instead of answering me. What a wanker. 

“It’s cold,” Baz says. “And I’ve class in the morning.”

“Oh. Right.”

“But,” he says, opening his door, “I can’t say I’d be opposed if you’d like to text me once you’re home.”  

My breath mists in front of me as I huff a laugh. I guess I haven’t completely fucked things up, then. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

“Goodnight, Snow,” he says, and I swear I’ve never seen anyone get into a car more gracefully than Baz does right now. I guess he just does everything gracefully.

“Goodnight,” I say, grinning. I can’t stop grinning.

He’s about to shut his door when I remember.

“Oh, wait!”

Baz’s eyebrow lifts, just a bit. “Yes?”

“How was the drink?”

His lips quirk up, but he doesn’t smile with his teeth. “Satisfactory,” he says, and then he closes the door to his rich-kid car. 

 

**BAZ**

 

I spend my drive home thinking about Simon Salisbury.  

My heart’s been beating madly since he told me he wanted to talk, and it’s only just started to calm down. I was completely convinced he was done with me in that moment, but no. _No._

No, he's just shit with words, it would seem. Which is infuriatingly adorable.

Fiona isn't in when I get to the flat. Of course. 

I set my empty cup down on the kitchen counter and that blasted dinosaur stares at me as I slip my coat off. It's infuriatingly adorable, too. I can't even bring myself to throw it away, which is moronic. 

I hang my coat in the cupboard by the door, then I take my cup to my room and tell myself that I'll throw it away tomorrow.

I have a hot shower because it's bloody cold outside. I have a wank because I was forced to stare at Simon Salisbury all evening. (My register is in the perfect position for staring at him, but also the perfect position for him to _catch_ me staring at him)( I've not decided whether that's a problem.)

I slip into the warmest pair of pyjamas I have, then head to the kitchen. Pour myself a glass of water. Empty two little pills into my palm. 

_"A good combination,"_ the last psychiatrist said. It _is,_ I think, though obviously not always foolproof.

I swallow them down. Finish my water. Set the glass into the sink with a pleasant _clink._ Then I head back to my bedroom.

My mobile's sitting on my desk, but Simon's not texted me yet. I think about texting him first this time, but then I open my laptop and make sure my essay has gone through to my professor instead.

It has. 

I swipe my mobile open again. Nothing yet. Maybe he's in the shower as well. He smelled like sugar and coffee and sweat. He smelled like something I'd like to eat. Or just lick.

I sigh as I get into bed. Turn off my bedside lamp. It's near eleven now, and I _do_ have class in the morning; that wasn't a lie. Still...

I’m lying face down, breathing in the cedar and bergamot dabbed into my pillowcase, when my phone vibrates violently on my bedside table. It makes me jump (whether out of surprise or desperation, I’m not sure). I’m on my back with my mobile in hand in an instant, in any case, the light from the screen nearly blinding me.

It’s Snow. And I’m smiling. 

 

**Fit Idiot (10:54 pm):** ok but

**Fit Idiot (10:54 pm):** your arse in those trousers

**Fit Idiot (10:55 pm):** 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Baz's dino doodle-laden cup [here](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/186402025912/hey-yall-so-im-working-on-chapter-8-of). (I created it myself 🦖💛💙🦖)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy idk if i should apologize for the fact that this chapter is over 14k words? I've no idea how it happened, tbh.
> 
> Thanks as always to [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) for enduring all of my unsolicited snippets, beta-ing, & being there when I get a _little_ too meta. Y'all helped carry me through a bit of a mental health flail last week & I just appreciate the heck out of you. 
> 
> Thanks as well to everyone reading this! It means A LOT! Thank you for all your comments, kudos, & those of y'all over on Tumblr who sent me encouraging words as I posted incessantly about this chapter! 
> 
> **TW for this chapter:**  
>  Mental health stuff that's on par with what we've seen so far; thoughts of death.
> 
> Alright, let's do this thing.

**Thursday, 3rd December, 2015**

 

**Fit Idiot (10:54 pm):** ok but

**Fit Idiot (10:54 pm):** your arse in those trousers

**Fit Idiot (10:55 pm):** 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:55 pm):** Snow.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:55 pm):** I can’t talk long. Class tomorrow. 

**Fit Idiot (10:56 pm):** yeah ok

**Fit Idiot (10:56 pm):** how about we each get one question from that article then ill let you go

**Fit Idiot (10:56 pm):** you got 1st this time

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:56 pm):** Alright.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:00 pm):** Would you rather go 30 days without your phone or your entire life without dessert?

**Fit Idiot (11:00 pm):** aslfjdaslf

**Fit Idiot (11:00 pm):** baz wtf

**Fit Idiot (11:00 pm):** that’s not fair

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:01 pm):** 1\. It’s a would you rather; it doesn’t have to be fair.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:01 pm):** 2\. You’re the one who picked this infernal article. Or did you forget?

**Fit Idiot (11:01 pm):** i literally cant even imagine life wo scones

**Fit Idiot (11:01 pm):** literally what even is life wo scones

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:02 pm):** So you’d go without your mobile, then. Problem solved.

**Fit Idiot (11:02 pm):** the prob is not solved

**Fit Idiot (11:02 pm):** i wouldn’t be able to text you for 30 days

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:02 pm):** Well, Snow, we’d see each other at the shop. You’ve gone and made sure of that.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:03 pm):** Also my aunt has a landline. If you’re so inclined.

**Fit Idiot (11:03 pm):** your a bloody genius

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:03 pm):** You’re.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:03 pm):** And I know.

**Fit Idiot (11:03 pm):** prat

**Fit Idiot (11:03 pm):** ok my turn

**Fit Idiot (11:06 pm):** whats the weirdest text youve ever gotten

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:06 pm):** Dinosaurs or Dragons?

**Fit Idiot (11:07 pm):** oh fuck yuo thats not the wierdest

**Fit Idiot (11:07 pm):** fuck i didnt really mean fuck you 

**Fit Idiot (11:07 pm):** omg 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:08 pm):** You literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:10 pm):** Dev accidentally sent me a picture of his dick once. He was drunk and it was meant for some girl or another. He claimed she was well put out that she never got it, though that might just be a story he tells himself. 

**Fit Idiot (11:11 pm):** dev sends dick pics

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:11 pm):** Well. The one, at least.

**Fit Idiot (11:11 pm):** jfc

 

* * *

 

 

**Friday, 4th December, 2015**

 

**Fit Idiot (8:04 pm):** would you rather trade some intelligence for looks or looks for intelligence

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:37 pm):** I can't believe you're asking me this, Snow.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:37 pm):** I don't have to choose.

**Fit Idiot (10:38 pm):** well not irl you dont that's true

**Fit Idiot (10:38 pm):** but it's a would you rather so

**Fit Idiot (10:38 pm):** would you rather

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:38 pm):** 😒

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:38 pm):** How much of either would I be trading, exactly?

**Fit Idiot (10:39 pm):** jfc idfk baz

**Fit Idiot (10:39 pm):**  just answer the question

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:39 pm):** Fine.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:41 pm):** Looks for intelligence, then. It'd be everyone else's loss, but they'd all be too stupid for me anyway. 

**Fit Idiot (10:41 pm):**  interesting

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:41 pm):** What are you implying, Snow?

**Fit Idiot (10:42 pm):**  idk just intresting

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:42 pm):** You're digging yourself a hole. Quickly.

**Fit Idiot (10:42 pm):**  im sure you'd still be well fit

**Fit Idiot (10:42 pm):**  probably too smart for me tho

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:42 pm):** I'm already too smart for you, Snow.

**Fit Idiot (10:42 pm):**  🙄

**Fit Idiot (10:43 pm):** wait do you actually think that

**Fit Idiot (10:43 pm):**  i mean your probably right? but

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:43 pm):** Simon.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:43 pm):** I'm not being serious.

**Fit Idiot (10:43 pm):** well i mean

**Fit Idiot (10:44 pm):** idk

**Fit Idiot (10:44 pm):** idk that I'm smart at all

**Fit Idiot (10:44 pm):** im not even in school rn

**Fit Idiot (10:45 pm):**  ive been a bit nervous to say so actually

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:45 pm):** Why?

**Fit Idiot (10:45 pm):** why am I not in school

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:45 pm):** No. Why are you nervous?

**Fit Idiot (10:45 pm):** bc youre smart

**Fit Idiot (10:45 pm):**  you might not like me

**Fit Idiot (10:46 pm):**  i might not be good enough

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:46 pm):** You shouldn't worry about that.

**Fit Idiot (10:47 pm):**  i just don't know what i want to do

**Fit Idiot (10:47 pm):** so

**Fit Idiot (10:47 pm):** i figured I'd take a break

**Fit Idiot (10:47 pm):** I just

**Fit Idiot (10:48 pm):**  do you know? like. what you want for a career or whatever? bc idk. & idk why they expect us to know. we're only 18

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:48 pm):** I've no idea, Snow.

**Fit Idiot (10:48 pm):**  really

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:48 pm):** Really.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:49 pm):** Uni was expected of me, so I went. I'm only taking basic courses and a few electives.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:50 pm):** I've a mind to major in English, I think.

**Fit Idiot (10:50 pm):** that makes sense

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:50 pm):** My father doesn't think so.

**Fit Idiot (10:50 pm):**?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:51 pm):** Well. He says I should do as I please, but to also think of my job prospects.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:51 pm):** I can't say I'd be opposed to continuing to work at the bookshop once Uni's done. Maybe open my own bookshop, rather. I’ve not decided.

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** well i think it's brilliant

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** i think your brilliant

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:51 pm):** You're.

**Fit Idiot (10:51 pm):** omg

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:52 pm):** My turn.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:54 pm):** What fact are you really surprised that more people don't know about?

**Fit Idiot (10:55 pm):** omg did you know there are poisonous birds

**Fit Idiot (10:55 pm):** it's like pokemon are real or smth

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:55 pm):** Excuse me, what?

**Fit Idiot (10:55 pm):** there are poison birds

**Fit Idiot (10:56 pm):** <https://lmgtfy.com/?q=poisonous+birds>

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:56 pm):** I can't say I knew that, no.

**Fit Idiot (10:56 pm):** wicked right

**Fit Idiot (10:57 pm):** so how much longer till schools out

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:57 pm):** Just one more week.

**Fit Idiot (10:57 pm):** you alright? pen keeps telling me shes running on fumes & coffees

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:57 pm):** That’s definitely not far off. I’m having a time keeping my eyes open.

**Fit Idiot (10:57 pm):** do i need to let you go?

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:58 pm):** Might do. 

**Fit Idiot (10:58 pm):** thats alright anywya. ebb has me opening tmw so i guess id better sleep too

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:59 pm):** You’d better, if you want to be coherent enough to mix your coffees properly. 

**Fit Idiot (10:59 pm):** ill have you know ive not had many complaints

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:59 pm):** But you’ve had them. 

**Fit Idiot (10:59 pm):** people can be pretty particular about their coffees ive learnt that much

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:00 pm):** Alright, well. Off to bed with you, Snow.

**Fit Idiot (11:00 pm):** see you when you come in

**Fit Idiot (11:00 pm):** maybe youd like a satisfactry pumpkin mocha whatever the fuck

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:00 pm):** Might do.

**Fit Idiot (11:01 pm):** night baz. go get your baeuty sleep

**Fit Idiot (11:01 pm):** fuck thats not how you spell that is it

**Fit Idiot (11:01 pm):** always fuck that one up

**Fit Idiot (11:01 pm):** anyway

**Fit Idiot (11:01 pm):** night

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:01 pm):** Goodnight. 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:04 pm):** And Simon?

**Fit Idiot (11:04 pm):** yeah

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:05 pm):** You aren’t stupid. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Saturday, 5th December, 2015**

 

**Fit Idiot (3:07 pm):** look i know you wont see this till your lunch or whatever but was anyone going to tell me we’re allowed to wear jeans on saturdays or was i just supposed to see you walk in looking like that msyelf?

**Fit Idiot (3:08 pm):** i mean in all srsness ebb probably told me & i just forgot 

**Fit Idiot (3:08 pm):** but jfc

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:05 pm):** It would seem you have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with trousers. 

**Fit Idiot (6:05 pm):** just yours tbh

 

* * *

  

**Sunday, 6th December, 2015**

 

**Fit Idiot (6:02 pm):** first of all have you noticed how thirsty your customers are for you

**Fit Idiot (6:04 pm):** 2nd of all i think we should take our mobiles out on the floro 👀

**Fit Idiot (6:04 pm):** dev does it & literally no one gaf

**Fit Idiot (6:05 pm):** so

**Fit Idiot (6:05 pm):** im takign mine

**Fit Idiot (6:05 pm):** text me on your break 😉

 

***

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:37 pm):** You’re an idiot, Snow. 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:37 pm):** You’ve only just started and now you’re putting your job in jeopardy? 

**Fit Idiot (6:40pm):** i mean i dont think

**Fit Idiot (6:41 pm):**???

**Fit Idiot (6:41 pm):** hows your sandwich btw

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:41 pm):** Adequate. 

**Fit Idiot (6:45 pm):** your welcome btw

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:45 pm):** You’re. 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:45 pm):** And for?

**Fit Idiot (6:52 pm):** for saving you the last bag of salt & vinegar crisps you prat

**Fit Idiot (6:52 pm):** ive had people asking for them my whole shift

**Fit Idiot (6:52 pm):** so

 

***

  

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:07 pm):** Keep your eyes on your lattes, Snow; otherwise you’re like to burn yourself again.

**Fit Idiot (7:14 pm):** ok fuck you

**Fit Idiot (7:15 pm):** & also look at you being a dilincwint

**Fit Idiot (7:15 pm):** a delingcwint

**Fit Idiot (7:16 pm):** fuck

**Fit Idiot (7:21 pm):** DELINQUENT 

**Fit Idiot (7:21 pm):** YOUR A DELINQUENT

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:21 pm):** You’re. 

**Fit Idiot (7:29 pm): 🙄🙄🙄**

 

* * *

 

  **Monday, 7th December, 2015**

 

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:32 pm):** Where’ve your glasses gone, Snow?

**Fit Idiot (6:34 pm):** new contacts finally came

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:34 pm):** I see.

**Fit Idiot (6:34 pm):** me too

**Fit Idiot (6:34 pm):** lol

**Fit Idiot (6:35 pm):** get it

**Fit Idiot (6:35 pm):** i *see*

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:35 pm):** You’re ridiculous. 

**Fit Idiot (6:37 pm):** do you need a photo of me for your mobile now that you can actually see my face

**Fit Idiot (6:37 pm):** so like you know who your talking to

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:38 pm):** You're.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:38 pm):** And it’s rather obvious. Your texting is an actual catastrophe. I’d know it was you even without your name spelled out across the top of my screen.

**Fit Idiot (6:40 pm):** (what am i called in your phone)

**Fit Idiot (6:40 pm):** (👀)

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:40 pm):** Your name.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:40 pm):** Obviously.

**Fit Idiot (6:41 pm):**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/49050869192/in/dateposted-public/)

**Fit Idiot (6:41 pm):** (that’s u)

**Fit Idiot (6:41 pm):** (🦖🦖🦖)

**Simon Snow Salisbury (6:41 pm):** (BBB)

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:43 pm):**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/49050685056/in/dateposted-public/)

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:43 pm):** What a coincidence.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:43 pm):** You’re SSS. 

**Simon Snow Salisbury (6:44 pm):** so do you need a photo or

 

***

  

**Baz (6:44 pm):** Snow is asking me if I need a photo of him for my mobile.

**Imbecilic Relation (6:44 pm): 😏🍆😏**

**Baz (6:45 pm):** Not that kind of photo, you twit.

**Baz (6:45 pm):** WTF DO I DO?

**Imbecilic Relation (6:45 pm):** tell him. you. want it……?

**Baz (6:45 pm):** He’s specifically asked if I *need* it, which I don’t.

**Imbecilic Relation (6:45 pm):** sure but liek

**Imbecilic Relation (6:46 pm):** you cant take things so literally all the time

**Imbecilic Relation (6:46 pm):** wot he’s trying to say is “hi yes hello I am desperately attracted to you and am trying to figure out if you return my sentiments by asking you if youd like a selfie”

**Imbecilic Relation (6:46 pm):** so if you tell him yes he’ll know you want to bone down

**Imbecilic Relation (6:46 pm):** btw if hes asking that also means he wants one of u so like

**Baz (6:47 pm):**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/49050137913/in/dateposted-public/)

**Baz (6:47 pm):** Why is this my life?

**Voice of Reason (6:47 pm):** Welcome to the trials of love and sex, mate

 

***

 

**Simon Snow Salisbury (6:44 pm):** so do you need a photo or

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:51 pm):** I suppose that’d be alright. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Tuesday, 8th December, 2015**

 

**Imbecilic Relation (3:01 pm):** friday

**Imbecilic Relation (3:01 pm):** i need

**Voice of Reason (3:04 pm):**???

**Baz (3:05 pm):** He’s forgotten how words work, clearly.  

**Imbecilic Relation (3:05 pm):** YOUR TAKING ME TO SEE STAR WARS ON FRIDAY

**Imbecilic Relation (3:05 pm):** NO EXCUSES

**Imbecilic Relation (3:05 pm):** I KNOW YOUR OFF WORK BASILTON

**Imbecilic Relation (3:06 pm):** I AM CURRENTLY VIEWING THE SCHEDULE

**Imbecilic Relation (3:06 pm):** I NEED

**Imbecilic Relation (3:06 pm):** I WANT TO HEAR THE LITTLE BEEP BOOP

**Imbecilic Relation (3:06 pm):** BEEP BOOP BOOP BEEP BRRRR

**Baz (3:07 pm):** …

**Voice of Reason (3:07 pm):** He means he’s excited about the new droid

**Baz (3:07 pm):** Thank you for the translation. I don't speak idiot.

**Imbecilic Relation (3:07 pm):** your such a heathen. Just look at him. he's round and orange and he rolls around djdjdhjdjdhshjsjwiidhd

**Imbecilic Relation (3:07 pm):**

**Imbecilic Relation (3:07 pm):** i want one

**Imbecilic Relation (3:08 pm):** ANYWAY

**Imbecilic Relation (3:08 pm):** FRIDAY U R TAKING ME TO THE CINEMA WHERE WE WILL WATCH THE ROLLY POLLY DROID AND EAT SO MUCH POPCORN WE GET SICJ IN THE AISLE

**Baz (3:08 pm):** You can be sick by yourself.

**Baz (3:08 pm):** Why are you so hell-bent on Friday, anyway?

**Imbecilic Relation (3:09 pm):** bc it's opening day

**Baz (3:09 pm):** Jesus Christ, Dev, really? It'll be a madhouse.

**Imbecilic Relation (3:09 pm):** THATS HALF THE FUN

**Imbecilic Relation (3:09 pm):** oh i forgot

**Imbecilic Relation (3:09 pm):** your a fun ruiner

**Imbecilic Relation (3:09 pm):** also we're all off frisya do

**Voice of Reason (3:10 pm):** frisya do

**Imbecilic Relation (3:10 pm):** U LNOW WOT I MEAN

 

***

 

 

**Simon (3:42 pm):** any plans friday night

**Penelope (3:45 pm):** My original plan was to celebrate the end of term by drinking wine by myself in my room and catching up on Downton Abbey. 

**Penelope (3:46 pm):** What do you have in mind?

**Simon (3:46 pm):** prob a terrible idea 

**Simon (3:46 pm):** say i was going to see star wars with baz & his mates

**Simon (3:46 pm):** would you go with me

**Penelope (3:47 pm):** Simon.

**Penelope (3:47 pm):** Is Basil aware that you’re going to be there? 

**Simon (3:47 pm):**...not exactly

**Penelope (3:47 pm):** JFC Simon

 

* * *

 

 

**Wednesday, 9th December, 2015**

 

**Fit Idiot (7:54 am):** good luck with your exams today

**Fit Idiot (7:55 am):** break a 🦵🏼

**Fit Idiot (7:55 am):** i mean dont actually break a 🦵🏼

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:59 am):** I'm familiar with the expression, Snow, thank you.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (8:00 am):** I’ll see you at work tonight.

**Fit Idiot (8:00 am):** 🙃🙃🙃

 

* * *

 

 

**Thursday, 10th December, 2015**

 

**Fit Idiot (8:36 pm):** would you want the ability to hear the thoguhts of people near you even if you couldnt turn the ability off

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:09 pm):** Snow.

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:09 pm):** This isn’t on our list of questions.

**Fit Idiot (10:10 pm):** yeah ik its a diff article

**Fit Idiot (10:10 pm):** same site

**Fit Idiot (10:11 pm):** i couldnt find any more ?s i liked on the other one

**Fit Idiot (10:15 pm):** baz?

 

* * *

 

**BAZ**

 

I take my last exam of the term on a rainy Friday morning near mid-December.

I took the day off from work, and I suppose I could go home, but I've a mind to head to the shop and have Snow make me a Pumpkin Mocha Breve. (I'll never tell him so, but he makes the best I've ever had. Perhaps I'm imagining it.) (I'd order from him even if he _didn't_ make the best. It'd be worth it just to watch him work.)

At the same time, I absolutely do _not_ want to be anywhere near him at the moment, not after the question he asked me last night. The one about hearing other people’s thoughts and not being able to turn them off.

I saw it as soon as I was off work, and then I ignored him and chewed my cuticles to bleeding the entire way home. I couldn't very well admit that I've enough trouble listening to my _own_ thoughts on an endless loop. That I don't have the time or the energy to sort through someone else's. 

I suppose I could’ve just said _no,_ but I changed the subject once I got home instead. He didn't press, but he's not _stupid_. What he _is_ is treading dangerously close to the crux of the matter. What if he asks something like that again? I can’t hide this away forever. I can’t pretend to be _normal_ forever.

I'm going to have to tell him eventually, if I want this to go anywhere beyond late-night texting and staring at each other from across a crowded bookshop.

_Is_ that what I want? My stomach becomes an endless pit of anxiety whenever I think on it. And longing. I can’t tell which is worse.

We could just go on as is. He's nice enough just to look at. Just to taunt. Just to talk to.

Until someone else comes along and he grows bored of me and my seeming inability to allow him to know me. To _truly_ know me.

I could just text him later. Leave the drink. Wait to see him until we’re both on the schedule. It’d be _easier,_ that way, not to see him face-to-face, to talk to him through a screen and cyberspace. To look at that inflammably handsome photo of himself he sent to me the other day and _pretend_ he’s there in the room with me. To just hope and daydream and never take that last step over the blasted edge of whatever the fuck’s going on between us.

Only I _won’t_ be able to talk to him tonight, not until it’s terribly late. 

I've grown rather accustomed to texting with Snow in the evenings after work (and during my lunch break, and his, and _fuck,_ even on the bloody work floor) and now Dev's gone and mucked that up with this infernal new _Star Wars_ film he’s so keen on.

_“To celebrate end of term!”_ Dev said.

I could’ve bloody well celebrated on my own. Could’ve spent my evening texting with Snow and blushing and pretending to read a book—a _fun_ book, something not assigned for class, something without deadlines and essays and exams—while I waited for him to get back to me on one of his ridiculous would-you-rather questions.

 But _no._

I’m sat at the stoplight near Fiona’s flat when I finally decide to keep going. To drive to the shop. To see Simon.

I don’t particularly want to think about what this means about my resolve. Or lack thereof. I tell myself I’m only going for a coffee. That’s what I tell myself the rest of the drive. That’s what I tell myself until I’ve parked the Jag outside the shop, and then I sit here listening to the rain beating down on my windscreen and watching the minutes tick past on the clock while my bowels perform some sort of miserable circus act inside me. I’m like to vomit my coffee right back up, though I’d have to drink it first. Order it. _Get out of the fucking car._  

Right.

I grab my umbrella and open my door. Get out of the car. Open the brolly and make my way across the carpark before I can change my mind.

_He’ll know,_ I think as I step beneath the awning of the shop and out of the rain.

I’m stood stupidly off to the side of the café door, holding my umbrella limply in my hand. It’s one thing to stare at Snow while we’re both on the clock. It’s quite another to purposefully come here on my day off to, well. Stare at him some more.

_He’ll know you’ve just come to get a look at him._

I take a deep breath.

Close my umbrella.

And then I step inside. 

 

**SIMON**

 

I nearly jump out of my skin when I turn ‘round and see Baz stood at my register.

“You aren’t on today,” I say. Knee-jerk reaction, really, and _stupid._ (I wonder if he’s figured out that I’ve memorized his schedule. Which isn’t as creepy as it sounds, I don’t think.) 

“Astutely observed, Snow,” he says. It comes out all slurred sounds and I think he probably regrets it as soon as it’s said. (He’s not told me so, but I think the lisp embarrasses him.) (Personally I think it’s lovely, especially because it always makes him blush.) (Which always makes _me_ blush, too.) I’m blushing _now_ , though I’m fairly sure it started before he even opened his mouth. I can feel it creeping up out of my collar and towards my ears.

“Right,” I say, wiping my sweaty hands on my tea towel. (I’ve started keeping one over my shoulder the way Ebb does.) I step up to the counter, just to be that much closer to him. I can smell him from here, that hint of forest and citrus. Rain too, today, and no smoke. I’ve not smelled smoke on him since Trixie’s party. “How was your exam then?” I ask. “Last one, innit?”

“Yeah, it’s—” His eyes dart away. I wish he wouldn’t _think_ so hard sometimes. It’s just a little lisp. And it’s _cute,_ for fuck’s sake. (I’ve not told him so.) “Yeah,” he says again, and leaves it at that, hooking his brolly over his arm. He’s wearing a different coat today, a burgundy one. It’s lovely against his skin. 

“That’s good, then,” I say. Fuck, he looks good. (I mean, that’s _always,_ but.) Even his hair’s bloody perfect. Mine’s an absolute disaster today, what with the rain. I catch myself pulling at it and drop my hand. I’m just hoping he’s not noticed. How ridiculous my hair is, I mean. Probably he has. Fucking hell.

He just nods.

“Um.” I wipe my hands on my towel again, just for something to do with them. “D’you want your drink?”

“That’s why I came,” he says.

“Right.” I hope he doesn’t mean that’s the _only_ reason he’s here. He could get his fancy drink anywhere, really, though I suppose he does get the discount here. Not that he really _needs_ the discount, the toff. 

I grab a cup and my Sharpie and start doodling him a T-rex while he rattles off his order. 

“I _know_ ,” I say as I draw the two little stick arms. (His schedule’s not the only thing I’ve memorized; I know how to make his fancy drink by now even without him telling me, and he knows it.) (He still goes to the trouble of telling me, anyway—this much half cream, that many pumps of syrup, a little of this. I’m not rightly sure why. Honestly I think he’s a bit of a control freak. Or maybe he’s just trying to fill the silence.)

I put the finishing touches on my dinosaur—a row of little scales and a row of little teeth—before I turn around and set to work. 

“Any plans to celebrate?” I ask over my shoulder as I pump his syrup. Fuck, I _know_ what his bloody plans are. I helped make them, didn’t I?

“Nothing terribly exciting. Dev’s insisted we go see _Star Wars_.” 

“Y’don’t seem too thrilled about it,” I say, and I’m thinking that’s probably not the best news for me. I mean, if he already doesn’t want to be there, how pissed off will he be when I just show up unannounced? ( _Again_?)

I know it’s a bad idea. I _do,_ even without Penelope telling me so.  I just…

Well, I’m too bloody nervous to ask him on a proper date myself, aren’t I? I’m just not sure it’s the right time yet, but Penny says I’m never going to feel like it’s the right time. She also says I should tell Baz that I’ll be at the cinema tonight.

I know she’s right, but…

“I suppose I’ve never understood all the hype,” Baz says. His lisp seems to have gone. (I suppose that’s good, and I’m glad he’s not so nervous anymore, but also I sort of miss it.) 

"Oh." I can't say I understand. I've _always_ loved _Star Wars_ , for as long as I can remember. I can still remember the first time Mum and I watched them together. Or at least I can remember little kid me getting a kick out of C3PO and R2 and wanting to be a podracer. I had that video game, too, the podracing one. I played it so much it broke and I was near inconsolable until Mum bought me a replacement.

Somehow I can't picture Baz playing video games. 

I pour in his half cream and then set the cup beneath the espresso drip. "D'you like it at all?"

He shifts his weight from foot to foot and rolls his eyes. "Well, I don't _hate_ it. Just not the way I'd choose to spend my Friday night, is all."

_Noted_.

Baz watches me as I give the cannister of whipped cream a good shake. I'd bloody well love to know what's going through his mind just now. Fuck knows the things going through mine are entirely too inappropriate for work.

I make sure to give him extra whipped cream. (He likes to lick it out of the cup, and I'm not sure he knows just how much _I_ like to watch him while he does it.) I don't bother putting a lid on; he'll do that himself once the cream's too far inside the cup for his tongue.

I shrug as I slide his cup carefully across the counter. (I let my fingers linger, and sure enough he brushes them with his as he takes his drink from me. It gives me a shiver. It gives me a shiver every fucking time.)

"How _would_ you spend a Friday night, then?" I ask as he dips his tongue against the cream. That’s when I can see it—the two of us alone, huddled close on my couch. We’ve got a bottle of wine, maybe, and we’re watching something on telly but not _really_ , because Mum isn’t home, and he calls me _Simon,_ and…

I gulp down the last of the saliva that’s left in my mouth. Baz’s stormy eyes glance up at me just as he's finishing his lick. He's got that one eyebrow arched high, too, and…

Fucking hell. 

"Um," I start, gesturing at his face. His eyebrow falls. "You've got—" I'm just reaching across my register to swipe the bit of cream from the tip of his nose when the bell on the café door rings. I glance that way and smile at the two ladies walking in. I can see Baz scrambling to wipe the cream away out of the corner of my eye. Well, scrambling _gracefully,_ if that’s possible. (If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Baz, it’s that he always does things with poise and purpose.) (He makes it look easy, but I’m not sure it really is.)

I start punching his order into the register as that blush starts creeping up on me again. I don’t know what I was thinking, reaching for him like that. I mean, I _wasn’t._ Thinking, I mean. But, well. Sometimes I feel like if I don’t just touch him I might die. (That sounds pathetic and desperate, really, but I can’t help it.)

Baz gives me his employee number while he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. He's lisping again, and probably it's my fault, and I sort of feel bad but also I always take it as a good sign. Like, maybe this whole desperate attraction thing isn't completely one-sided. Or fruitless. Hopefully.

That's when his umbrella slips right off his arm and clatters to the floor. He sets his jaw and squats to pick it up, and when he stands again I've already pulled my own wallet out of my pocket. (I've been keeping it in there, lately, just in case I want to buy a scone at lunch.) (I _always_ buy a scone at lunch. Half my bloody salary's going towards scones right now.)

"Here, let me," I say, and Baz lurches forward and says _Snow_ all stern-like and slurred as I swipe my debit card. I'm not sure if he's pissed off or just embarrassed. Maybe both. 

I smile at him as I pocket my wallet. "Happy end of term."

"You didn't _have—_ "

"Hey," I cut him off. "I wanted to. Yeah?"

He picks his drink back up. I think his knuckles would be white if he held it any tighter, and covered in Pumpkin Mocha Breve to boot. (It's a good thing we've got sturdy cups.)

Baz glances towards the women stood behind him. "I'd better be going, Snow," he says, and starts for the door. The lady behind him's already stepping up to the counter. 

I smile at her but follow along after Baz on my side of the counter. "Hey," I whisper overtop the oven. (I have to stand on tiptoe to see over it.)

Baz sighs. ( _He_ doesn't have to stand on tiptoe to see _me._ ) "You've customers, Snow—" I don't think he realizes how much I _don't_ care just now. Customers might be impatient as fuck, but an extra thirty seconds won't kill them, surely.

“Can you. Um.” _Fuck._

 Baz raises that bloody eyebrow at me.

 “Just.” I roll my eyes back at him. “Just _wait._ Just a minute, yeah?”

 

**BAZ**

 

Snow keeps glancing over at me like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here. 

I can't imagine what he's so keen to tell me, but it has my stomach rolling over itself, whatever it is.

At least the view is lovely from here. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, just like they always are. I've a strange and wonderful fascination with his forearms that makes my mouth go dry every time I see them. I can still imagine what he could do with those arms. Hold me, yes. Hold himself _above_ me. 

There's a small mole on his right wrist that I've wanted to lick since I first noticed it a few days ago. Because I'm disturbed.

I turn my back to him and walk over to the little station with the sugars and milks and lids. Snow gives me extra cream, always, like some sort of unspoken agreement between us. It’s bloody well embarrassing that I just dipped my nose into it like some sort of barbarian, but I think…

I think he was about to clean it for me himself. _I think Simon Salisbury almost touched my face._  

I’ve not decided how I feel about that yet, other than disgustingly shy. 

I can hear him working the espresso machine as I grab myself a lid. I pull the overflowing cream into my mouth _—_ very carefully _—_ before snapping the lid on. When I turn around, Snow’s snapping lids onto cups as well, then handing them over to his customers with a smile. It’s a different sort of smile than he gives me, sometimes, though perhaps that’s just wishful thinking on my part. (The truth is that he’s kind and good to everyone. It’s exhausting just to watch him.) 

The women chatter all the way to their table, and I take a sip of my drink _—_ perfect as always _—_ before I let my gaze land back on Simon. 

He’s wiping his hands on that tea towel he’s started carrying around. “Well?” he says when I cock an eyebrow at him. “ _C’mere_.”

I step forward until I’m stood across from him at his register. I pretend that I don’t feel like my guts are destroying themselves, like my traitorous heart doesn’t want to burst out of me and just _give itself to him,_ right here. Right now. 

“Hey,” he says. “Um.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck so fiercely that I’d love to reach across the counter and take his hand in mine just to stop him. (I don’t.) His skin is burning red and…

Oh fuck.

Oh, Jesus Christ, is he about to ask me out?

I think he might. And I think I might be sick.

“Um,” he says again.

Stall. Stall. Bloody _fucking_ stall. “I thought you had something important to tell me, Snow,” I say. “What with how insistent you were about me waiting _—_ ”

He huffs. “I _do_ have something important to tell you. I just.” He looks around like he’s trying to make sure we’re alone. We aren’t. What we _are_ is stood in a crowded café, and I know that none of these people actually give a fuck about what goes on between the barista and me _—_ two nameless faces they aren’t likely to remember at all _—_ but _what if they do?_

“ _Fuck_ ,” Simon says under his breath. “Fuck, just. I don’t want you to be cross, but probably you _will_ be, and _—"_

“ _Simon._ ” I can only imagine what he thinks I could be _cross_ with him about. My mind’s searching for something _—anything—_ catastrophic. All I can think is that this is it. This is the moment he tells me that it’s all been a mistake. _Oh, well. Y’know. I don’t actually like blokes, I guess? Well. Not_ blokes, _just. You specifically._

“Look, just. Dev invited me to the cinema tonight.”

_Talking to you made me realize that—_

Wait.

“ _What_?” 

Simon’s face burns hotter. “Dev. He. He told me the other day that I should come along. Told me to bring Penny, too. But. I mean, I was going to do it. I was _going_ to go. But then I thought I _shouldn’t,_ like. Because I don’t think you liked it too much when I just started working here and I didn’t want to do that to you again. So. I wanted to tell you, and if you don’t want me there, I won’t go.”

Dev. _Fucking Dev._

Snow shrugs and looks down at the floor. “So, um. Do you? Want me to go, I mean.”

I believe my heart’s left my chest and taken up residence somewhere behind my voicebox. Or perhaps that’s just a lump in my throat. Or my lisp lying in wait. Bloody fucking _fuck._

“S’alright, y’know,” Simon continues. His brow is furrowed when he looks up at me, and I’m quite certain it’s one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. He’s started rubbing at his neck again, too. “If y’don’t want me to. I’ll. I mean, I don’t want things to be weird _—_ "

“No,” I say, and his face falls. _Shit._ I sigh. “No, I didn’t mean _no._ I.” Fuck, what _do_ I mean? “I suppose that’d be alright.” It’s most definitely _not_ alright. It’s an absolute disaster, a bloody nightmare. _Still._

His lips quirk up, crooked and cute and good _Lord_ I’d give anything to have the wherewithal to just lean across this bloody counter and press my mouth to his. But I can’t. Not here. Not _now._

“Really?” he says.

“No, Snow, I’m just yanking your chain for my pleasure.” Jesus Christ.

Simon grins wider, and crookeder, and even bloody _cuter—_ damn it all _—_ and says, “Right, well. See you tonight, then.”

“See you tonight, then,” I echo, and I turn on my heel and leave before he can stop me again. Before I can make an even bigger fool of myself. 

I’m going to fucking kill Dev.

 

* * *

 

“You’re treading dangerously close to being stricken from the family tree,” I tell Dev over fish and chips.

He rolls his eyes. “Empty threat, mate.”

“Oh, _is_ it?”

“Look, this is taking _forever_. The suspense is killing me _—_ ”

“I can assure you I’ll kill you faster than the suspense ever could.”

He _snorts,_ the bastard, and shoves more peas into his mouth. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you _—_ ”

“Would you _close your mouth?_ ”

Dev rolls his eyes again and clicks his jaw shut. I glance at Niall and see him smiling like he’s trying not to. And _minding his own business_ , unlike my idiot cousin. Though I’m sure he was complicit.

I sigh. “You knew as well, didn’t you?”

Niall confirms my suspicions by trying to hold in a laugh.

“Has it occurred to either of you that maybe I _need_ to take things slowly?”

Dev tilts his head. “Eh? _Need_ ’s a pretty strong word _—_ ”

“For fuck’s sake, _do_ shut up _—_ ”

“You asked me a _question,_ you barmy tosser _—_ ”

Niall sets down a chip that was already halfway to his mouth. “Can we please _—please—_ just have one peaceful night out? Philippa’s meeting us there; I’d like her to think my friends aren’t complete idiots. And at least somewhat civil _—_ ”

“We’re the _civilest—_ ”

“You’re an idiot,” I tell Dev. 

“You know what I _haven’t_ heard from you?” he says, pointing his spoon at me. I flinch even though no bits of food fly off.

I tilt my head at him as I move one finger along the lip on my glass of Coke. “What’s that?”

“ _Thank you, Dev, for helping me in this area of my life in which my own skills are severely lacking. Thank you, Dev, for inviting the love of my life to the cinema since I couldn’t bloody well do it myself. Thank you, De—_ ”

“Excuse me, the _love of my life?_ He is _not—_ ”

He huffs. “Believable, that _—_ ”

“Furthermore, _severely lacking?_ ” I jut my chin at him, probably too aggressively. _“_ Where’s _your_ date, if you’re so bloody adept at this?” 

He doesn’t have anything to say to that, for once in his life. He looks rather put out, actually, aimlessly stirring the remainder of his peas.

I sigh and keep on circling the lip of my glass. “Look. I appreciate your enthusiasm. It’s the _meddling_ I don’t appreciate. The _surprises…_ the setting me up on dates that I'm not even aware of…"

Niall nods at my plate. "You've barely eaten."

"Thank you; I hadn't realized." Fuck, it's a wonder I even _have_ friends. I'm sure the lack of food isn't doing anything for my irritability.

I've had nothing resembling nourishment besides my own cuticles since I finished the drink Snow made for me this morning. I'd originally planned to hole up in my room with a book and tea all afternoon, but instead I mostly ended up pacing the flat while my stomach knotted itself into all manner of sickening shapes. 

Fiona tried to get me to eat, of course." _We can't have you wasting away again, Basil. Not like_ —"

" _This isn't anything like a few years ago, Fiona."_ The time I thought I'd finally gone completely insane. The time I was nearly placed in hospital. The time I was so anxious and nauseated that I had to force myself to eat just to get some semblance of nourishment in me.

I told her I was fine, even though I wasn't—even though I'm _not_ —because I'm fairly sure this is more akin to normal nerves than it is to, well. _That._

I’ve been sorely tempted all day to just stay home tonight, to not see the film. To not see Snow at all. I was tempted up till the time I got in my car and drove to meet Dev and Niall. I’m still tempted _now._ To stay home. To stay _safe._

I think the crux of the matter is that I've no idea how to talk to Snow in person, outside of work. I've barely any idea how to talk to him at all.

I say as much to Dev and Niall now.

Niall starts, "Just be—"

"Myself, yes, I _know._ That's the problem. I keep." I take a deep breath and push it out, run a hand through my hair. "I keep thinking, _today's the day he changes his mind. Today's the day he realizes I'm…"_

_"_ You're what?" Niall asks.

I sigh. Pick up my spoon. Set it down with a clatter. "That I'm not _enough_ . Or…" I shake my head and suck on my teeth. At this point I'm not even sure _what_ it is I'm so worried about, besides striking up conversation. And whether Simon’s actually attracted to me. Whether he actually _likes_ me at all. 

"Fuck, mate," Dev says. His mouth is full of peas again. "For all your outer confidence you have _shit_ self esteem—"

Niall cuts him off with a look. "Well. Seeing a film's easy enough. You don't _have_ to talk to him. In fact, it's expected that you _don't._ "

I think, _Yes, but I'll still have to sit next to him, won't I?_

I say, "And afterwards?"

"Well. You'll play it by ear," Niall says, as if it's the easiest fucking thing in the world. 

"I bloody well _hate_ playing things by ear," I mumble.

"Here's the way I see it," Dev starts.

I lean back in the booth and cross my arms. "Oh, _do_ enlighten me."

He cocks an eyebrow at me. I cock mine back.

Dev rolls his eyes. "You've two options. Go and see what happens. Or don't go, and you'll never know. It's your choice, mate, but I don't want to hear you whingeing about it if you pick the wrong one."

I scoff. “Whingeing—" 

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t. Sorry, mate, but this—" He gestures wildly with his spoon as if that somehow encompasses the entire concept of Simon Salisbury and me toeing nervously around each other for the last few weeks. “ _This_ isn’t going anywhere. Not unless you make it. No one ever got anywhere in life by playing it safe.” 

I sigh, partly because I have to (breathing’s a bit of work at the moment) and partly because I know he’s right. 

I glance at Niall, who just shrugs at me. “He does have a point, Baz. Take the risk.”

I swallow as I sit up in my seat. Nod. 

And then I start to eat. 

 

**SIMON**

 

“How much time d’we have?” I ask Penelope through my mouthful of curry.

She scrunches up her face at me. “Close your mouth.”

“Fuck,” I say, then swallow. “ _Fuck_.”

“ _What_ _now,_ Simon?”

“I was just thinking. Like. I should’ve brought my toothbrush with me or something—”

“Are you expecting to snog him right there in the cinema then? In front of all of us?”

“ _No,_ but…” Am I expecting to snog Baz _at all_ tonight? I suppose not, not with everyone else around. Fuck, I don’t even know if he’d _want_ me to. “Well, I don’t want my breath smelling like curry, do I?”

“I’ll give you a mint,” Penny says. She looks exhausted already.

“ _I’m only going for moral support,_ ” she’s been saying since Tuesday. “ _It’ll be a miserable time, on opening day. All those_ people _._ ”

I hadn’t thought about all the other people. All I was thinking about when Dev invited me was _Baz._

Baz is a good friend, I think. He hates crowds, he’s told me so, and apparently he doesn’t even like _Star Wars_ all that much, but he’s still coming tonight. For Dev, I guess. _Just not the way I'd choose to spend my Friday night…_

I wonder if he’ll smoke later, outside the cinema. _It helps with the anxiety,_ he said. I don’t know that I could take it, honestly, watching him taking pulls off a fag and pushing out smoke. I just want—

“ _Simon_.” Penny’s giving me a look like this isn’t the first time she’s tried getting my attention.

“Sorry, what?” 

"Slow _down._ We have time. You don't want to embarrass yourself by spilling curry all over your collar, do you?"

I look down at my shirt. (No curry.) 

I’m not wearing my work clothes to the cinema. I wasn’t sure _what_ to wear, actually. Penny helped when she came to pick me up. She said, “ _For fuck’s sake, Simon, it’s_ just _a film. It’s not a date,”_ while she was rifling through my wardrobe. I ended up in a mossy green button-up shirt and jeans. Not that it matters much what kind of shirt I’m wearing; it’s not like anyone will see it under my coat outside, or in the dark in the auditorium. 

I sigh and set down my spoon. "Fuck, this was a bad idea—"

"Well. It was certainly _an idea_. But it's going to be just fine."

"Pen. I've no idea what to even _say_ to him—"

"You talk to him every night, don't you?"

I shrug. "'S different."

"It's just a film, anyway. We'll be sat in silence most of the night—"

"Yeah, but like. What about before? What about _after_?"

Penny sets down her spoon, too. "Stop pulling at your hair. You'll pull it right out and be on your way to balding before you're twenty."

I drop my hand and suck on my bottom lip instead. 

Penny's face softens. "You really fancy him, don't you, Si? It was never this bad with Agatha."

I stir my curry while a fresh blush spreads over my cheeks. "Yeah, well. You caught me. So."

"You know, he could barely stop blushing, the last few times I saw Basil in class."

"Really?"

"Yeah.” She raises her eyebrows and sighs. “You're both lovestruck disasters, clearly."

"Love?"

"Crushstruck, then; I don't know."

_Crushstruck._ That's a good word for it, actually. It's about how I _feel_ , any time I see Baz. Any time I talk to him. Like I've been _hit_ with something. Something good.

“How d’you know?" I ask. "When you’re in love, I mean.”

Penny sighs. “You’re not in love, Simon."

“Well, I know _that._ ” I’d need to get a date first, a real one. Probably a few of them. 

“You’re _obsessed,_ is what you are.”

“Yeah, well.” I stir my curry some more. “I _could_ be in love, couldn’t I? Like. If he let me.”

Penny's eyes roll up to the ceiling before they land on me again. She's not rolling them _at_ me, exactly, but I can tell I'm making her tired. Probably I've gone over my talking-about-Baz quota. “You need to give it _time,_ Simon. Love doesn’t just _happen_ to you. You create it, you know." She circles her spoon through the air in front of her. "Together.” 

“That’s deep, Pen.”

She shrugs and smiles smugly at me before setting down her spoon. “What I think you need to do—barring tonight doesn’t go completely to shit—is take Basil out on a proper date—”

“D’you think tonight’ll go completely to shit?”

“Jesus. _No._ " She squeezes her eyes shut and sighs again. Then she opens her eyes and taps the table between us. "Just listen to me. Take him out on a proper date—”

“How does this like… _work_? With two blokes, I mean? Like. Who’s supposed to ask who out?”

Penny purses her lips and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “You’re being sexist, Simon. I know you don’t mean it that way, but _honestly._ ”

“Well, how am I supposed to know?!”

“ _I_ asked Micah out, for one, if you recall. It doesn’t matter who makes the first move, but one of you needs to. And if you want to take him out, it’d better be you. And _soon,_ for fuck’s sake, so you can stop with the pining. You’re driving me half-mad—”

“Well, how d’you think _I_ feel?” I stop myself from fucking with my hair again. “I think I’ll try tonight. To ask him, I mean. After the film. Like. If we can get a minute alone. I dunno.” I huff a sigh. “I don’t even know what we’d _do,_ on a date. I tried to find out, earlier, when he came in for his coffee. But then something stupid happened and I got customers and I never found out.”

“Wait, you _tried to find out_? What does that mean?”

I shrug. “He said this isn’t how he’d choose to spend a Friday night,” I say. “So I asked how he _would_. But he didn’t get to answer me.”

“Alright, well. You can figure that bit out later.” Penny waves a hand at me. “For now you need to focus on the actual _asking him out_ bit. And I think you should do it tonight. Rip the plaster off.”

I stare into my curry and stir it some more. It’s nearly gone, only a few spoonfuls left. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah.”

 

**BAZ**

 

I bring an entire pack of Marlboro Reds to the cinema even though I've a nagging worry about Simon being put off by my smoking. In fact I'm completely and utterly sure he _will_ be put off by it, which only makes me want them more. And so I pace and chainsmoke at the side of the building in the dark while Dev, Niall, Philippa, and I wait for Snow and Bunce to show up. 

The pacing isn't helping much, truth be told. I keep walking through my own trail of smoke and choking myself. The others are stood off to the side, where I'm sure Dev and Niall are trying their best to normalize my behaviour for Philippa's sake. (She's a nice enough girl, I suppose. Though I'm honestly not sure what Niall sees in her. She's rather daft, in my opinion, but I won't tell him so.) 

I've just realized that the smoking is a shit idea. Everyone in the auditorium will be able to smell me, surely, which will only draw attention. Which is precisely what I'm _not_ going for. _Damn it._

I wonder if I can air myself out in the loo. 

I stub out the fag and drop it in the receptacle just as someone taps me on the shoulder. It scares the hell out of me.

I’m half-expecting to find Snow when I turn around, but it’s just Dev.

“The fuck are you doing?” I hiss.

“You’re going to smell like a chimney in front of your bloke if you keep this up.”

“Yes, well. I’m doing my best to push him away, you know.”

Dev raises an eyebrow at me. It makes me want to shave it right off him. “Get yourself together, mate,” he says, taking me by the shoulders, squeezing.

I nod towards Niall and his girlfriend. “What do you think of her? Philippa?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He lets go of me and starts rifling through his pockets, pulls out a pack of gum.

I roll my eyes. “Dev, I’m not planning on snogging him _tonight_ —”

“Thinking about snogging, are you?” He huffs a laugh. “No, I thought it might help with the…” He moves his fingers back and forth in front of his mouth and clicks his teeth together.

It’s only then that I realize I’m chewing on my pinky finger. “ _Fuck_.” I snatch the gum out of his hand. “Yes, fine.”

“You tend to do it a lot at the cinema—”

“ _Yes.”_ Pent up anxiety, mostly. Being stationary in a seat will do that. Thinking about a maniac murdering me in the dark of the auditorium for no good reason besides the fact that I’m _there_ will do that as well, though it’s been awhile since I’ve thought too much about random, irrational violence. Bully for me.

Dev smirks at me. “ _Thank you, Dev, for thinking ahead for me_ —”

“You’re incorrigible,” I mutter. “Thank you, Dev, for being an insufferable twat.”

“It’ll help with the smokiness as well, yeah?” He claps me on the shoulder and jerks his head to the side. “Better start now; he’s coming.”

It’s work not to spin on my heel and see Snow for myself.

“ _Breathe,_ ” Dev says.

“Is he wearing his glasses?” I just spit it out. I don’t know where it comes from, and the mere _implication_ of what I might mean by it starts a blush flaming across my face.

“What? No.” Dev raises that eyebrow at me again. _Fuck_ , but I do hate him sometimes. “Do you have a glasses kink?”

“It’s…” And there it is, without fail. That fucking lisp.

Dev grins. “Oh my _God,_ you _do_ —”

“Shut up. Shut _up,_ Dev, for the love of _fuck._ ”

“Alright, alright. Best turn around. He keeps looking at you.”

“Is he with Bunce?”

“What?”

“His friend. Short. Big hair. Glasses.”

“Yep.”

That’s some consolation, then. I nod. Unwrap a piece of gum and pop it into my mouth. “Right,” I say.

And then I turn around.

 

**SIMON**

 

I actually, literally can’t understand how one person can look so bloody good all the fucking time.

Baz is stood there with Dev, and he’s just turned ‘round, and I just…

“Pen…” I whisper out the side of my mouth. We’re still far enough from them that they shouldn’t be able to hear us, but _still_.

“ _What,_ ” Penny whispers back.

“I dunno if I can do this.”

“Suck it up, Si. Too late now.”

“Right…”

He just looks so fucking _cool._ And fit.

He’s wearing that burgundy coat again, the one he had on when he visited the café today. (He doesn’t have his brolly anymore; the rain stopped early this afternoon.) He’s wearing jeans, too, dark ones, and I know for a fact his arse looks perfect in them because he was just stood with his back to me a few moments ago. He’s got a scarf on, a dark brown one, and he’s left his hair down. His breath is misting in the cold, humid air, and even _that_ manages to be so sexy I can barely breathe myself.

Dev is smiling as Penny and I stop in front of him and Baz.

“Cheers, Simon,” Dev says. He holds his hand out to Penny. “Dev Grimm.”

“She has a boyfriend,” Baz says. “Don’t you, Bunce?” His cheeks and the tip of his nose are red from the cold—or maybe he’s blushing? _Is_ he blushing? Fuck, it’s lovely, whatever it is.

“Yes, Basil; good to see you, too.” Penny shakes Dev’s hand anyway. “Penelope Bunce.”

Dev keeps smiling at her but rolls his eyes. “I’m just being friendly.”

Baz still hasn’t looked at me. “You’re always friendly,” he says. I snort because now I’m thinking of Baz telling me about Dev sending that dick pic. (I try to hold it in, but it slips out anyway.)

Dev turns to him. They’re almost the same height, but Dev still has to look up, just a bit. “You should try it sometime. You might like it.” Dev turns back to Penny and me. “C’mon. Bloody cold out.” And then he’s gone.

Penny follows after him and elbows me in the ribs as she goes.

“Well, um…” I start.

Baz finally glances at me, but he looks away just as quickly. (I almost miss it.) “It’s cold, Snow. Let’s go,” he says, slurring just a bit. I can smell the smoke on him as he starts to walk. Nervous, then. I wish he wouldn’t be, but also I’m happy he _is._ Unless it’s not because of me. (Maybe it doesn’t mean what I think it means.)

I fall into step beside him. “Y’look. Um.” Fucking hell, _what am I supposed to say?_

Baz’s breath mists as he huffs a laugh. “Well. What a compliment.”

I glance between us, just to see where his hands are. Stuffed into his pockets. I can’t bloody well just stick my hand into his pocket, too, no matter how much I want to. God, even the thought of just holding his hand—just _trying_ to hold his hand—makes me feel like I’m going to be sick. But _fuck_ , do I want to. I want to feel how cold it is. And I want to make it sweat. 

Probably shouldn’t think about that right now. 

Dev is introducing Penny to a bloke and a girl up ahead, the two who were snogging on the couch at Trixie’s party.

Fucking hell, I’d nearly forgotten that I have to meet Baz’s other best mate tonight. This is the first time I’ve seen Niall since the party but I’m sure he doesn’t remember me; he was too busy snogging. (I’d not remember him, either, if it’d been me.) 

His smile is soft when he shakes my hand. (My palms are sweaty; it’s embarrassing.) He’s less intimidating than Dev, somehow. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t give me a shovel talk the way Dev did, or maybe it’s because he just looks _nice._

Niall lets go of my hand and introduces me to his girlfriend. She’s got her dark brown hair cut short above her shoulders, and her green eyes give me a once-over before she smiles and shakes my hand. “Philippa Stainton,” she says. Her voice is soft, too. “Don’t I know you?”

“Don’t think so?”

Her eyes go big. “Oh, you work at Nico’s, don’t you? In the café? I was there a lot before exams. Revising, you know.” 

“Right.” _That’s_ where I know her from. Besides the party, I mean. She was there getting a coffee the day I got my job. And apparently a few times after, though probably I was too busy staring at Baz to notice. 

“Right, well.” Dev claps. He’s practically bouncing in place. “Let’s get going, shall we?” 

 

**BAZ**

 

The auditorium is near bursting when Snow and I walk in, and I may very well be sick all over the carpet. I have to throw my gum in the bin purely so I’ll stop swallowing my own saccharine, minty saliva. 

“ _Why don’t you two go find our seats?_ ” Dev said, the meddling tosser. Bunce bloody well agreed with him, so Snow and I are on our own while everyone else stands in line at the snack kiosk. (I told Dev not to buy me anything. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep anything down.)

I wonder if Snow noticed Philippa looking him over like she wanted to snog him. (Not that I blame her. He does look especially kissable tonight. He always does.) I wonder if _Niall_ noticed. I’m hoping Snow hasn’t noticed _me_ at all, though that’s most definitely wishful thinking. He keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. (I only know that because I keep glancing at him, too.) 

“Um,” he says, holding up his ticket. “I think we’re up here, yeah?” He gestures towards a row, and we count out our seats. 

Fuck, I have to sit by him. 

Well, I don’t _have_ to. I could position myself as far away from him as possible, put four bodies between us, but that would probably give him the wrong idea. The sort of idea you don’t want to give someone you want to slip the tongue. 

“I think this is the last one we’re assigned,” he says. He’s pointing stupidly at a seat. “Could have Penny here. Then me. Then you and your lot that way.” 

“Yes, fine,” I say, probably too dismissively. I’m probably _still_ not giving him the right idea. 

“Right," he says. Then I have to stand here and look on while Snow starts unfastening his duffle coat. Clumsily. It’s the clumsiest, sexiest bloody thing I’ve ever seen. Christ. 

I avert my eyes and unwind my scarf, unbutton my coat, slip it off. Meanwhile I hear Snow next to me trying to fumble himself out of his sleeves. I take my seat and set my things in my lap, cross one leg over the other. The fit idiot’s still halfway in his coat and I can’t help but huff a laugh. 

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, his face burning red. 

“Sorry, Snow. I didn’t realize I’d be getting a preshow. Do carry on.” 

He finally shrugs himself out of it and throws it over the back of his seat. “Not everyone can be so bloody perfect all the time, y’know.” 

“No, I suppose not,” I say as I take him in. He’s wearing a moss-green button-up shirt that looks absolutely lovely against his tawny skin, though he’s not rolled up his sleeves. At least not yet. Pity. 

He folds his hands in his lap and twiddles his thumbs. “Um.” Then he turns towards me so abruptly I almost jump out of my seat. “This is weird,” he says. 

“Pardon?” I think my voice nearly breaks with the nerves. _Jesus fucking Christ, of course it’s_ weird _, Snow. You don’t have to point it out._

“That came out wrong. I mean. Seeing each other outside of work is. Well it’s different, innit?”

“Well-spotted,” I say, and I’m fucking lisping, damn it all. 

He grins at me. (He’s still blushing.) “Yeah, I’m nervous, too.” Then his eyes light up, and I find myself wishing he’d worn his glasses, not just because I like them, but because it would put _something_ between his eyes and mine. It’s so damned _uncomfortable,_ looking into his eyes. (I don’t.) 

Snow lifts his arse up off his seat and shoves his hand into his back pocket, then brandishes his mobile and grins crookedly at me. Then he starts typing away. 

My own mobile vibrates in the back pocket of my trousers almost as soon as he sets his facedown in his lap. He has one leg crossed over the other, his ankle resting on his knee, and his foot is jiggling distractingly. I watch it as I reach back and pull my mobile from my pocket. 

 

**Fit Idiot (9:24 pm):** hey

**Fit Idiot (9:24 pm): 🦖🦖🦖**

 

Fuck, I should never have changed his name back to _Fit Idiot._ My luck he’ll look over and see. (I hold my mobile at a slight angle, just in case.)

 

**Baz (9:24 pm):** Snow.

 

I hear his mobile vibrate against his thigh. Fuck, what I’d give to touch him there. Just once. His legs are thicker than mine, stouter. Muscled, probably, underneath his clothes. I feel a blush start at the back of my neck just thinking about it.

Snow pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and...is _that_ what he looks like while we text? I just want to lean over and take that lip between _my_ teeth. To tease it with my tongue. 

My screen lights up as my mobile vibrates in my hand. 

 

**Fit Idiot (9:25 pm):** this is easier yeah?

**Baz (9:25 pm):** yeah

**Fit Idiot (9:25 pm):** film starts soon. probably time for one ? each

**Baz (9:26 pm):** Go on then.

 

He’s still sucking on his lip as he starts scrolling through one of those infernal articles we pull our questions from. (I’ll admit that some of them are decent questions, and I’d be lost trying to figure out what to ask him myself, but _Mantelligence._ Honestly.) 

 

**Fit Idiot (9:28pm):** what or who has taught you most of the information you use on a regular basis

 

My chest tightens sadly when I read it. What a question. I _know_ the answer; it comes easy—of course it does—but it’s hard to actually _say_. Hard to think about. But I can still hear her voice in my head. I still know what she sounded like, even this far on. 

_"What have I told you about courage, little puff?"_ she’d say. 

_"But I'm_ afraid…" I’d be curled next to her, curled in on myself. Crying, sometimes. Sometimes not. 

" _I know, love."_ Her hands were always so rough. _"But that's the only time we can be brave, isn't it? When we're afraid."_ I remember she used to lather them with lotion, her hands. All the time. It smelled like clove and mint, so that's what she always smelled like, too. (It did nothing for her callouses, but she kept on.) " _So,_ " she'd say. " _What have I told you to do, when you feel afraid_?"

" _Light a match inside my heart,_ " I'd say.

" _That's right. And blow on the tinder. Stoke your courage, love. It's_ here, _inside you._ "

 

**Baz (9:29 pm):** My mother.

 

**SIMON**

 

Goddamn it, why am I so fucking _shit_ at this?

I thought this would be easier _,_ texting him. We do it every night. But of course I pick a question that makes him think of his mum. Again.

I set my mobile facedown against my thigh. “Fuck, I’m sorry—” 

“No, that’s alright,” he says. He doesn’t look _sad,_ not exactly. Just sort of...far away. Then he actually turns his head to face me, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face this _close_ before. He’s close enough to kiss.

Fuck, _he’s close enough to kiss._

“It helps, sometimes,” he says. “To talk about her.”

"Oh,” I say, because I don’t know _what_ to say. 

That’s when all the others come back, and the lights start to dim. Penelope hands me a Coke and sits next to me, then she elbows me in the ribs and leans into me. (She does that a lot, says I keep her warm.) (I guess the cinema _can_ be cold, so.) I elbow her back. (I think about elbowing Baz, but that would probably be weird, so I don’t.)

I lean close to him instead, once he’s done whisper-fighting with Dev about something. 

“Hey,” I say, and he jumps. It’s adorable. “Just. If you ever want to talk about your mum, like. I’m here, yeah?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking (I can’t see his face right now, so I can’t guess, either). The adverts come on then, and his features light up—literally. I realize I can’t see his ears when he wears his hair down, at least not fully. A bit of his earlobe is peeking out from under his hair. I think about pulling it into my mouth. And then I stop thinking about it because I really _shouldn’t_ be thinking these sorts of things right now. 

Baz tilts his head towards me, just a bit. “Yeah, alright,” he whispers. And then he starts scrolling through his mobile. 

 

**BAZ**

 

**Baz (9:32 pm):** What’s that new article you’re getting the questions from?

**Fit Idiot (9:32pm):** [ https://www.mantelligence.com/good-questions-to-ask-to-get-to-know-someone/ ](https://www.mantelligence.com/good-questions-to-ask-to-get-to-know-someone/)  

 

I’m scrolling through Snow’s new list of questions when Dev elbows me in the side. I make him elbow me again before I turn my head and raise my eyebrow at him.

“What’re you _doing_ ?” he whispers. “ _Talk to your bloke_.”

“I _am_ , you tit,” I hiss through my teeth. “Mind your own bloody business.” 

He huffs and stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth. At least that shuts him up. 

 

**Baz (9:35 pm):** If you could have dinner with any one person, living or dead, who would they be and why?

 

I don’t know what I’m expecting, and I almost don’t ask it, but I’d be scrolling through questions until the film starts at the rate I was going. (I can’t decide which question to ask half the time.) Snow is already reading my text. We’ve turned the brightness on our mobiles down, but I can practically hear him thinking from here as he sips at his Coke. His foot is still jiggling against his knee, and I want to reach out and still it. I _want_ to, but I can’t. 

He sets his drink down. Starts typing. It’s a short answer, whatever it is, because my mobile vibrates in my hand just a few seconds later.

 

**Fit Idiot (9:37pm):** you

**Fit Idiot (9:37pm): 🙃🙃🙃**

 

Did he just fucking ask me out over a _text_? And as a bloody answer to one of these infernal Mantelligence questions? 

 

**Fit Idiot (9:38pm):** maybe we can talk about the 2nd part of the question later? 

 

I’m torn between getting sick all over my shoes and just handing myself over to him right here, right now. _Yes._

Fuck, if I say yes we’ll actually have to go out. Probably have an actual conversation. Not that it’s unusual for people to be on their mobiles at a restaurant these days, but, well. That seems a lot more rude than what we’re doing _now_. 

I start typing. I just start typing, otherwise I’ll be sat here vacillating throughout the entire fucking film. 

 

**Baz (9:40 pm):** Alright then, Snow.

 

I can’t look over at him. I _want_ to, and I don’t want to, and also I want to see if he’s wearing that adorable, crooked grin I like so well. 

I decide a _glance_ can’t hurt.

 

* * *

 

**SIMON**

 

I’m going to hold hands with Baz Pitch tonight. 

That’s what I’ve been telling myself, at least, since the film started. And I keep _looking_ at his hands. They’re lovely, just like the rest of him. His fingers are so long, and I can’t stop myself from thinking about playing with them. I catch myself thinking of _sucking_ on them at one point, which is alarming, to say the least. Definitely can’t think about that right now. 

He’s got these little scars, criss-crossing over the back of his hand and knuckles. I’m not sure how he got them; all I can think is glass. They’re so _fine,_ and so scattered, and I like them, even though they probably hurt like a fucking bitch when he got them. However he got them. I’ll have to ask. 

I’ve no idea what’s actually going on in the film right now, but I’m not mad about it. I mean, I’m pretty sure all these new people just stole the _Millennium Falcon_ but also I don’t really care. I can’t _focus,_ not when I’m sat next to Baz like this. Not when I can smell him, all smokey and woodsy and citrusy and just fucking incredible. He smells like someone set a campfire in a lemon grove. Or something. I don’t fucking know. It’s just... 

Well, it’s just lovely. Even though the smoking _is_ terrible for him. 

He’s like—what’s that word?—an _aphrodisiac._ It’s almost making me dizzy. And also I want to lean over and snog him senseless. 

I wonder what he _tastes_ like.

Fucking hell.

 

**BAZ**

 

Snow keeps glancing over at me. I know because he’s not good at glancing at me without turning his head, and I keep seeing his curls moving out of the corner of my eye. Because I keep glancing at _him_. 

He keeps looking at my hands, and I keep clenching them. Likely he’s seen how completely fucked my fingers are by now. 

It’s work not to chew them. I keep thinking about having another piece of Dev’s gum, but I’d have to unwrap it and, well. The _noise._ So I clench my teeth and work my jaw and hold tight to the armrest instead.

I’ve no idea what’s happening in the film. There’s too many people in this auditorium, and Snow’s right _here,_ glancing at me. Smelling like something sweet. Earthy. _Heady._ A hint of cinnamon. I wonder if that’s what he _tastes_ like. Cinnamon. Spice. Comfort and home. 

He’s still staring at my hand. Not watching the film. I don’t know what—

Oh, _fuck_ , he’s just caught me watching him. But he’s smiling. It’s a shy smile, and crooked. It fits him. If I were standing I’d be weak in the bloody knees.

I feel my lips quirk up against my will, just the slightest, smallest bit. And then Simon Salisbury sets his hand on top of mine and I almost choke.

 

**SIMON**

 

I don’t think my heart’s ever beat so fast as it is right now. 

Baz’s breath caught when I touched him, but he’s not pulling away. I don’t _think_ he’s going to pull away.

His hand is bigger than Agatha’s—so much bigger. (I’m not sure why that surprises me.) I squeeze it—his hand, I mean—then work my fingers beneath his palm until it’s cupped in mine. He doesn’t move. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but he lets me lace our fingers together and—

Oh fuck.

_I’m holding hands with Baz Pitch._

 

**BAZ**

 

Snow’s hand is so warm, so gentle, and I’m met with simultaneously wanting to yank my hand away and wanting to lean into him, melt into him. Just _give in._

I just want to give in. 

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz’s scars are soft. 

I don’t know what I was expecting, I guess. I don’t have any scars of my own to compare them to. A thrill grows in my belly as I run my thumb over them. I can feel Baz’s heartbeat in his palm, hard and fast and _fuck,_ I wonder what he’d do if I just lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed it. (I don’t.) 

I stroke the knuckle of his thumb instead. It’s rough and jagged and I practically feel him flinch. Probably he doesn’t like that, then. I’m not sure _why,_ but I stop touching the callous anyway. I still my thumb instead, and we sit here holding hands.

I still have no idea what’s going on in the film. Something about Luke exiling himself, I don’t fucking know. I just know I need to hold onto Baz. 

I do. 

 

**BAZ**

 

He felt it. 

He felt my thumb, how completely fucked it is from years and years and bloody _years_ of ripping my skin apart. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember. 

It’s how my mother knew. 

I overheard her one night, talking to my father. “ _I think he’s like me, Malcolm_ ,” she said. I don’t remember how old I was. It couldn’t have been too long before the accident, a few years, maybe. 

My father didn’t know what to do. My mother wanted to work with me herself. “ _Then we can see about getting him his own therapist. We’ve caught it early, at least. It’ll be easier for him to learn how to deal with it, at this age.”_

I dealt with it, for a time. And then she died, and I almost forgot how. 

How to deal with it. 

I almost forgot myself entirely. 

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz’s palm is starting to sweat. 

Probably if he could talk he’d be lisping right now. 

I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe I should let go of his hand? I don’t know. I mean, if he didn’t want me touching him he would’ve pulled away by now, surely?

I hope he likes me touching him. I like touching him, even though he's clammy.

Maybe he’s sweating because he actually fancies me, too. I mean, he didn’t say _no_ when I sort of asked him to dinner while we were texting during the adverts. (I’m not sure it really counts, anyway, and also I feel like dinner might be, I don’t know...too _simple_ for a first date.) (I’ll have to ask him. I never did find out how he’d rather spend a Friday night.)

I hope he does. Fancy me, I mean. Fuck, I hope he does.

 

**BAZ**

 

_And then she died._

_And I…_

This is what I’ve become. 

_You’re going to die if you stay here. You’re going to die. What happens after we die? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing._

_No. It’s fine. There’s no madman. No one’s going to hurt you._

_You’re going to die._

_Alright, yes._ Don’t let it win. Don’t. Fucking. Let it. _Win._

I hiss when I tear the cuticle on my thumb with my teeth. I don’t know when I started chewing on it, but here we are. My other hand is shaking in Simon’s, and I’ve no idea what’s happening in the film, and my heart’s beating madly in my ears.

_Your mother’s dead because of you._

_No. No, she died in an accident. It was an_ accident. 

_But what if it was your fault? It was your fault. It was. Your fault. It was._

_Alright, yes. It was my fault. Now fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck. Off._

“Hey.” It’s a soft whisper. It’s Snow. “Everything alright?” One of his curls is brushing against my temple and _fuck,_ it feels like one thousand spiders crawling against my skin.

I swallow and pull my sweating hand out of his. Look past him. Past Bunce. I’m going to have to squeeze past at least five people to get out of this fucking row but I _can’t stay here._

I get up. Snow tries to touch my arm as I shuffle past him, I think, but I keep moving. Past Bunce. Past the rest of the people in the row. “ _Pardon, pardon, pardon._ ” Out. Get out. Get. _Out._

I’m outside before I even realize how I’ve gotten here. I nearly drop both my cigarette and my lighter as I fumble for that rush of nicotine. That rush of _calm the fuck down._ Light. Inhale. Even my smoke shakes as it pours out of me. _Godfuckingdamn it._  

There’s a bench at the side of the cinema, drenched in light from the building. I walk over to it. Sit. Stand back up. Pull more smoke into my lungs. Sit. Stand up. Lean against the building. Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe_. 

My eyes rove around the front of the cinema. Around the carpark. It’s so bloody dark out here, I can’t rightly see if there’s actually a threat. 

_There’s not,_ I think. _Just you._

It’s just me. 

I breathe deep, the December air burning through my lungs as my heart begins to slow. 

I don’t know why this is happening. The stress of exams should be over...shouldn’t it? ( _What if you failed all your exams?_ ) Maybe it’s residual. Maybe this is just a tail-end spike. 

Or maybe I’m spiraling again. 

The thought of _that_ sends my heart rate soaring again. I can’t. I _can’t_ do that again. I can’t go to that place again. Can’t. I _can’t_. 

“Baz?” I jump and spit out a cloud of smoke. When I turn, Snow is stepping towards me, almost like he’s afraid of me. Or maybe like he thinks I’m afraid of him. Which is true. 

“Go back inside, Snow.” 

“I came to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine.”

“Y’don’t seem fine—” 

“I’m _fine.”_

He holds up my coat and scarf. They dropped out of my lap when I got up, but I had to _get out._ “Y’left these. I. I thought—”

“Did you not think I might’ve just gone to the loo?” It comes out so sharp, so _mean_ , and I bloody well hate myself for it. But there’s nothing to be done about it now. 

Snow huffs through his open mouth. I can see little flecks of spit in his cloud of steam. “You told me you smoke when you’re nervous. You seem pretty fucking nervous, so. No. No, I didn’t think you just needed a piss.” He steps closer. “Did I do something?”

“It’s not you.”

“But—”

“It’s _not you._ ” I sigh, my breath billowing mist in front of me. “You should go back inside. You were excited for this movie.”

“I can see it again. You’re. Well.” He hassles his curls with his free hand. “You’re. Um. _Fuck,_ you’re more important, yeah? I wanted to make sure you were okay—” 

“Simon. I’m _fine._ ” 

He growls. Actually _growls._ “You’re _not._ Look, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but—”

I drop my cigarette to the pavement and stomp on it. “What does it _matter_?” I snarl. 

“What? The fuck do you mean _what does it matter_?”

“ _Why do you care_?”

“Because I care about _you,_ you prat!” 

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz takes a step back. Away. Away from _me_. “I have to go,” he says. 

“ _What_?”

“You don’t _know me,_ Simon. You don’t know a thing about me—”

“That’s not true.” I scoff. “Fuck, I know you’re smart as hell. And you want your own bookshop. And you’re mad about salt and vinegar crisps for some fucking reason. I know how you like your coffee. And that you smoke when you’re nervous. And get a lisp, and that you’re embarrassed about it but you _shouldn’t_ be. And that you’re _good,_ even though you’re kind of an arsehole sometimes. And you think feathers on dinosaurs are fucking _stupid._ ” 

He’s not looking at me. He’s looking away, into the carpark. He looks like he might start to cry. “I have to go,” he says again. 

“You _can’t,_ ” I say, which comes out wrong. “Fuck, I mean. You _can._ But—” _But I was going to ask you out and I can’t now because it’d be fucking weird…_

Fuck it. 

“I was. I wanted. I mean—” _Damn it._ I’m pulling at my hair again. I drop my hand and clench it in a fist at my side. “Fuck, Baz, I wanted to. I wanted to ask you out tonight. Properly. On a proper date. Not this. I mean, this was ace. Until now. Like. It’s not ace seeing you like this. Fuck, it’s _shit_ seeing you like this. But…” My heart is hammering so fast I think it might break a rib. 

Baz is staring at me like I’ve just asked him to climb to the top of Big Ben with me and jump off. He shakes his head. "I can't. I _can't._ "

 

**BAZ**

 

_It’s shit seeing you like this._

You’ve seen _nothing,_ Snow. This is _nothing._  

"Baz—?" Simon says. He looks hurt. And hopeful. And I just _can’t._

"I can't,” I say again. I’m _cold._ It’s so fucking cold out here, and he has my coat and scarf, and I just want to go to him. I want him to wrap me in his arms and tell me he cares about me. I want him to drape my coat over my shoulders and pull me to him by my hips. I want to sink into him and forget all of this. Just forget. Forget. _Forget._

But I can’t. And he deserves more. He doesn’t deserve _this._

" _Baz._ " He steps forward. I could have this. All I have to do is step towards him, too. All I have to do is say _yes._

I shake my head and cross my arms as I step back. "Please, Simon, just—"

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to."

" _What_?" His brow is furrowed, and I’m hurting him—I can _see_ that I’m hurting him, the way he’s looking at me. But it’s better now than later. Better if he can move on now. Find someone _normal._ Someone who can give him what he wants. 

I can’t. I can’t give him what he wants. What he thinks he wants. And even if I did, well. It'd be so much _worse,_ when he finally decides he doesn't want me. 

"I just _can't,_ alright?" My voice is starting to shake. _Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Not here. Not with him._ “I can’t.” 

My keys are in my jeans pocket. I don’t need my coat, and I don’t need my scarf. 

So I leave them with Simon Salisbury. And I go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh sorry y'all
> 
> (don't worry, we're going to fix this right up)
> 
> (I get through the torture by imagining their first time in my head like...every day so. Look forward to that fic I guess.)
> 
> also [thanks to Mr Honeyed Hufflepuff for introducing me to the concept of poisonous birds](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/186567165402/a-peek-into-my-marriage-poisonous-birds-my); otherwise who knew what random fact Simon would've known that lots of people don't
> 
> **EDIT** : if ya'll were wondering what the "inflammably handsome selfie" Simon sent Baz looked like, [here it is!](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/189108176917)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light a match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, accidentally wrote a longass chapter again. Hope y'all don't mind.
> 
> Thanks as always to [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) for beta-reading & listening to me flail when writing gets Tough™.
> 
> Credit for the phrase, "Dick down your brain," to the fabulous soultoast.
> 
> **Content warnings:** mental health experience typical of this fic, Lucy spouting cheesy metaphors, Simon's impure thoughts

**BAZ**

 

I don’t dream about him.

I don’t dream at all.

But he’s the first thing I think of when I wake up.

Blue eyes. Bronze curls. 

That look of bitter disappointment.

_It’s shit seeing you like this._

I turn onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.

My mind’s quiet, relatively. All the thoughts are gone, or just whispering at the back of my head. But my stomach’s still churning, and I can feel the blood rising to my cheeks in shame as last night’s events start to play over in my head.

Panic. Snow trailing after me as if that would fucking stop me. Leaving him stood there outside the bloody cinema.

The way I got into the Jag and beat my hands against the steering wheel until my heart rate started to slow. _Go back,_ I thought to myself.

But I couldn’t.

And so I left, practically sped all the way back to the flat, ripping and tearing at my callouses with my teeth the whole way. Panicked some more once I got here, tried to calm down. I _tried._ And usually I can control it, rein it back in. But not this time. I could barely breathe, and before I knew it I was sat on the sofa in tears and then—

“ _Where the fuck is he?!”_ Dev. I’d barely heard the door to the flat slam open. It’s hard to hear the world, sometimes, when your head is full of thoughts. When you can’t _stop_ hearing them. “ _You’re a twat, did you know? I just wanted to watch BB8 roll around. He was so fucking cute, and_ you’ve made me miss it _._ ” And then he actually _saw_ me, actually heard me. That’s when he shut up.

And then he and Niall were just there. Niall’s hand was on my arm. And I was choking on my own saliva. And Dev was pacing, not knowing what to do.

Niall made him sit. “ _Stop,_ ” he said. “ _You’ll make it worse; stop fucking moving_.”

He did. And then he was sat next to me, and I was slumping into him. Trying to breathe through my own tears and the snot and the panic. Dev smelled like popcorn, and I was very nearly sick all over the sitting room floor.

“ _Baz_ ,” Niall said. I don’t know _when_ he said it. He asked if I still had Xanax. I didn’t want it, _I didn’t want it._ It’d been years since I’d taken one of those, but. _But._

I must’ve gotten words out, somehow, because Dev was gone. And then he was back, handing me a glass of water and a little white pill and I was swallowing it down. And hating myself for giving in. Because I was weak. I’m _weak._

Goddamn it.

I don’t know what time it is now, and I don’t know how long I slept. My heart is thumping in my temples; apparently I gave myself a headache, with all the crying. The rushes of adrenaline. My body trying to come back down to its equilibrium. Whatever the fuck that is these days. 

I wouldn’t mind going back to sleep, actually. At least that way I wouldn’t have to feel so fucking ashamed. That’s worse than the pain. It always is. 

I have to have a piss, in any case, so I swing my legs over my bed and sit, holding my head in my hands for a moment as images of Simon Salisbury flash through my mind. How agitated he was. How I just _left_ him. The feel of his hand in mine. 

_The feel of his hand in mine._

My heart sinks when I remember that he asked me to dinner. I can’t imagine _that_ will still be happening, not after how I acted last night. Not after what I _said._

_I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

I squeeze my eyes shut before I start bloody crying again.

_It’s better this way._

Is it? _Is it better_ to be sat in bed alone, near freezing and trying not to cry?

Godfuckingdamn it.

I make myself get up, and every part of my body feels like lead. I’m so fucking _tired._ I tell myself that it’s not _worth it_ —that I don’t want it—a relationship. A relationship with _Simon._ (Not that he asked for one, but _still._ ) That’s what I tell myself each time I take another step.

I almost believe myself. 

Dev is in the bathroom when I get there, stood at the toilet having a piss with the door thrown open, because he has no fucking shame at all. His hair is rumpled like he slept here, and he’s wearing a pair of my silk pyjamas. 

“The fuck you doing here?” I say. My voice is full of sleep and pain and noises pushed through a swollen throat.

He shakes off and tucks himself back into his trousers— _my_ trousers—and he'd better not be getting piss all over my pyjamas, because I'm certainly not in the mood to deal with it. The idea alone nearly makes me flinch.

Dev flushes the toilet then pushes his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand. "Wasn't leaving you alone, was I?" He sounds like he's just woken up, too. “Niall’d have stayed, too,” he says as he rinses his hands. “But he had work, so. I told him we’d be alright. Went home.” 

I let out a half-hearted huff through my nose and roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me do it. “You didn’t have—”

“Shut the fuck up. _Yes._ I bloody well did have to.” He wipes his hands dry and then looks at me. “What d’you have to eat?” 

 

* * *

 

Dev makes us eggs and bacon and tea and burns it all—save the tea— though he still gives me a scathing look when I push the food around my plate instead of eating it. 

“You need to eat,” he says.

“Thank you _,_ Mother,” I say, though I regret my word choice almost immediately. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. Open them. Then I poke a piece of charred bacon with my fork and it crumbles apart. “Jesus Christ, you _did_ manage to fuck this up royally, didn’t you?” 

“Don’t be a fucking dick,” Dev says, his mouth full of ruined eggs. “Didn’t see you jumping to cook for us.” He swallows and sighs. “I can see right through you anyway, Baz. Just say you love me and have done.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“That’s what you fucking do, mate.” He circles his fork in front of my face. “I know you’re soft under all this.” 

I don’t encourage him with an answer. 

My face, for the record, is an absolute disaster. All I could do when I looked in the mirror was sigh at my reflection. Lank hair. Pale skin. My eyes are so puffy and red that I’m not sure I’ll look even half-way presentable for work by the afternoon. 

_Work._ It’s a good thing I’ve not eaten any of Dev’s disastrous breakfast, otherwise I’d be heaving it right back up right now. 

Because Simon will be there too, of course, and I’m not sure I have the energy to do this. Not sure I have the mental fortitude to walk into that shop, to show my half-ruined face and pretend like I didn’t make a complete arse of myself last night. 

“Could stay home, y’know,” Dev says through another mouthful. He’s doused his breakfast in a mountain of ketchup to block out the char. The corner of his mouth is stained red, and I keep having visions of him staining the shirt I’ve lent him. (“ _So I don’t have to go home before work._ ”) It makes me want to reach across the table and take it right back off him. 

He keeps on. “Not saying you _should._ Just saying you _could._ ”

_I could,_ I think. _Better yet, I could never go to work again._

I’m sorely, _sorely_ tempted. But I’ve already called out once in the last few weeks, and it’ll only get worse the longer I put it off.

“No,” I sigh, even as I imagine the inevitable mortification. “Open late tonight. And it’s the weekend. We’ll be slammed.” 

Dev piles more eggs and bacon and ketchup onto his fork. “I know you’re worried about seeing your bloke again—”

“There is no _my bloke_ —”

“How’s that? I saw the two of you last night, practically fucking each other with your eyes— _don’t_ give me that look. I _saw_ you. He’s arse over tit for you; I can tell—”

“Dev. I made a complete fool of myself. He probably thinks I’ve completely lost the plot, and honestly that’s a fair assessment—”

He rolls his eyes at me. “You’ve not lost the plot—”

“ _Still._ ” I poke at my eggs some more. “I can’t _do_ this—”

“Bollocks.” 

I huff and set down my fork with a clatter. (It’s not like I’m using it, anyway.) “Do you know why I had to go last night?” I don’t wait for him to answer. He just chews and cocks an eyebrow at me. “It was just the fucking _thought_ of him knowing about this, about _me.”_

“But that’s what it _is,_ innit? Shit thoughts? Thought you weren’t supposed to believe it or—? Don’t you have some sort of therapy you do or whatever?”

_Some sort of therapy you do or whatever._ Jesus, to be on the outside looking in. Must be nice.  

“Yes, well. It’s been…” _It’s been worse lately, and it’s making me feel like I’m slipping. It’s making me feel like I’m out of control._ “It’s been harder, lately. I don’t know why. Stress, maybe. Probably. I don’t know.” 

“You seem alright, though. Like, on the whole.”

_That_ makes me laugh. It comes out more malicious than I’d like. “I couldn’t even sit through a _film._ One infernal film—”

“Okay, first of all, _don’t_ talk about _Star Wars_ that way. Secondly, you’ve been weird at the cinema for as long as I can remember, so. Maybe the two of you could watch films _at home,_ if that’s what you want to do.” 

“I’m not supposed to _avoid_ the problem,” I huff. “I’m supposed to sit there and feel the fear and let it fucking pass. And I just _couldn’t_ —”

“Stop saying that.”

“ _What_?” I snarl. 

Dev rolls his eyes and leans towards me. “ _I can’t. I couldn’t._ ” Then he stabs his fork towards me and I flinch. “Yes you fucking can. You’re tough as bloody nails. Show that shit who’s boss, mate. Dick down your brain.” 

I don’t have an immediate retort, not to _that_. “ _Dick down my brain_?” I repeat. 

He shrugs. “Yep.” He pops the _p._

_Tough as bloody nails._ I suppose he’s not completely wrong there. You _have_ to be, to live with this shit. There’s not a choice. Either you fight, or you’re consumed by your own mind until you’re left a broken shell of the person you used to be. 

I won’t do that again. 

_The only time we can be brave is when we’re afraid._

“So,” Dev says, and it snaps me right back to reality. To the dining table. To my tea and my disgustingly burnt breakfast. To the fact that I only have a few hours before I have to face Simon Salisbury and...what? 

Dev waves his hand at me. “ _So,_ ” he says again. “Not supposed to avoid the problem, yeah?”

I run a hand through my hair and push out a breath. “Yeah.”

“Look, I don’t know how hard it is,” he says as he pushes the last of his food onto his fork with his other hand. He licks the excess off his fingers and I sneer at him, because he’s fucking disgusting. Also the sound of him sucking on his fingers is making me itch. “But I know you can put up a fight. And I think Simon’s just one more thing your brain’s being a dick about.”

I scoff at him, even though he might be right. Perhaps. “ _What?_ ”

He rolls his eyes as he swallows. “Jesus Christ, Baz; I _know_ you’re smart enough to follow my train of thought here. Keep the fuck up.” He gulps down some tea then wipes the back of his mouth with his hand. Just watching him devour breakfast is fucking exhausting. “Right. You have one little slip-up in front of him, and now you feel like you need to break things off—”

“ _Little_ slip-up?”

“And I don’t think you actually _want_ to—”

“There’s _nothing_ to break off—”

Dev huffs and drops his fork against his plate with a clatter. Then he digs in the pocket of his jeans, flips through his mobile for something, and tosses it across the table at me. When I look down, I find it open to his text messages. 

“Read those,” he says. “And tell me again how there’s _nothing_ to break off. Because that doesn’t look like _nothing_ to me.”

I raise an eyebrow at him but snatch up his mobile anyway. And there he is. _Simon_. 

 

**baz’s barista bloke simon (11:02 pm):** how is he

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:02 pm):** everytnihgs ok rihgt

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:03 pm):** i mean obvs its not

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:03 pm):** jsut

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:04 pm):** i just need to know hes ok

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:16 pm):** fuck

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:24 pm):** dev

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:38 pm):** gd it 

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:43 pm):** just lmk asap 

**baz's barista bloke simon (11:44 pm):** please

 

I can practically hear him sputtering, and as I read them over again I can see him stood outside the cinema, holding my coat and my scarf and yelling at me about how he cares about me. _About me._

I glance at the timestamps and see that Dev didn’t respond until nearly two hours after Simon’s first text. He was too busy with me, probably. I try to swallow down my shame as I read his responses. (It doesn’t work nearly as well as I’d like.)

 

**Dev (12:43 am):** hey everythings fine

**Dev (12:44 am):** hes fine

 

_Fine._ That’s a laugh. 

 

**Dev (12:44 am):** ill tell you now hes going to be embarrassed af next time you see him so just. go easy

**baz's barista bloke simon (12:44 am):** wtf happened??????

**Dev (12:44 am):** sorry m8. not my place

**baz's barista bloke simon (12:45 am):** did i do soemtihng wrong

**Dev (12:45 am):** no. 

**Dev (12:45 am):** its complicated

**baz's barista bloke simon (12:45 am):** wtf does that mean dev

**Dev (12:45 am):** i told you it isnt my place to tell

**baz's barista bloke simon (12:45 am):** well is it ok to text him

**Dev (12:46 am):** not yet

**Dev (12:46 am):** hes alright. just fell asleep. looking at him right now

**Dev (12:46 am):** wait for him to text you yeah?

**Dev (12:46 am):** see u at work tomorrow

**baz's barista bloke simon (12:47 am):** right...

 

I read them over a few more times and think on the fact that Dev didn’t give my secret up. Well. It would’ve been a lot to text, I suppose. 

“You didn’t tell him, when he asked,” I say as I slide Dev’s mobile back across the table.

He has the gall to look abashed. “No. Obviously. Why would I have?”

“Because you’re a meddlesome cur—”

“That’s your shit to tell, mate,” he says, as if he hasn’t invaded my private life multiple times in the last few weeks alone. “And I think you _should._ I don’t think it’ll change anything for him. Not in a bad way at least." He's shaking his head as he scoops more sugar into his tea. The tinkling of his spoon against the cup's about to set me off. "God, if you could’ve seen him when he came back to the auditorium. He was so fucking worried about you. Didn’t say you were mental. Fuck, I think he was afraid he did something to fuck things up with you. He wanted…” He trails off, sighs, dribbles tea onto the table when he sets down his spoon.

I close my eyes. Breathe. Open them again. “What.”

“Well, he wanted to come with us. To make sure you were alright. Niall didn’t think that’d be a good idea, so. He stayed behind. Tried to put up a bit of a fight, to be honest. He can barely get words out when he’s agitated, have you noticed?” 

_Of course I've noticed,_ I think. _His blustering's nearly enough to make me swoon, sometimes._

“Yeah," I say.

Dev sips—no, _slurps_ —his tea and sets it down with a clatter. Jesus _Christ_ , he's a barbarian. I don't know why it's surprising me after all these years. Remnants of last night's anxiety, I suppose. 

“Look," he says, "it’s your choice. But I still think you should give him a chance. _If_ you think he’s good enough for you. And if you fancy him enough, which I think you do—fuck, _stop_ looking at me like that. You _do._ And you don’t _know_ how he’ll react to the whole—” He gestures at his own head. It looks ridiculous. “You’ve no idea, but you’re acting like he’ll be so put off that everything else about you suddenly won’t matter anymore. And in my professional opinion—”

I snort. “Your _what_?”

“—in my professional opinion, I think you’re wrong. And I _know_ this is hard for you; you’re not used to being wrong often—”

“Fuck you.”

“Your dick brain doesn’t take all the good stuff about you away. I know you _think_ it does, but it doesn’t. Everyone has _something._ Tell him your something. Let him make a choice instead of making it for him, y’know?” 

I stir my tea, not drinking it, and think on that.

_The good stuff._ I try to think of something _good,_ something good enough to outweigh... _that._ I find I can’t, at least not at the moment. 

I suppose I do have a nice arse; Snow wasn’t wrong about that. But a nice arse does not a happy relationship make. For the most part, anyway. 

I try to think what my mother might say, if she were here now. She’d probably say she wanted me to be happy. And she’d tell me to have courage, to light a match inside my heart and…

It seems Simon Salisbury’s done that already, lit a match inside my heart. The thought of just letting him go is almost enough to put it right out. To _break_ it. My heart. 

I could let him go now, and it would bloody well hurt. It’d probably be one of the most painful things I’ve endured in my life, as of yet. That’s probably dramatic, honestly, but I think it might be true. And if _that’s_ true, the thought of _him_ letting go of _me_ later on, after I’ve touched him again, after I’ve held his hand, and kissed him, and _more._ After we’ve woken up together and done something completely mundane like have breakfast while we watch something stupid on telly. After I’ve truly gotten to know him...

I don’t know if I could take it. But I keep hearing Dev in my head, saying I’m tough as bloody nails. And hearing my mother, telling me to light a match. I’m hearing something about how sometimes we need to take _risks_ to be happy, and I think that might actually be _me._ I keep thinking how I’ve endured so much _worse_ than a heartbreak. 

I still my spoon inside my cup. "Well,” I say, quietly. “What if…"

Dev raises an eyebrow at me. "What if what?"

I take a deep breath and push it out. "What if he decides he doesn't want me?" Just the thought makes my stomach clench. 

"Well,” Dev says, shrugging. “What if he decides he _does_?"

What if he _does_?

I huff a shaky laugh and run my fingers through my hair. Fuck, but I need a shower. “Where is this coming from?” I ask.

“What?”

“All this... _reason._ ”

“Hm. Niall, probably.” 

I nod. “Right.”

Then I fold my fingers against my palms and watch as I run my thumbs over the callouses on my index fingers. One little brush from him, that’s all it took to set me off. Well. Maybe it wouldn’t have, if I’d not been mentally wrecked already. 

The callouses _themselves_ have never really bothered me. Only, when he touched one, well. It reminded me of what they represent. Not that I could ever forget. 

I think he liked the back of my hand, the scarring from the accident. I kept feeling him running his thumb along it. Funny, but those scars have never really bothered me, not much. They just are. I have bigger scars, _harder_ ones, than the physical. 

I pick my fork back up and move my food around my plate again. "I wish she were here. My mother.” I don’t say it often. I _can’t._ Because she’s not. “I just want to _talk_ to her sometimes. She knew. She _knew_ how it was. How to deal with it."

"Well,” Dev says, and he reaches across the table to nudge me in the shoulder. “You do, too, mate."

I huff a laugh. I’m made of half-hearted laughs this morning. “It doesn’t always feel like it.” 

“Doesn’t have to feel like it for it to be true.”

“Jesus Christ, Dev, would you stop? I’m starting to think you’re some sort of oracle who’s killed my cousin and used his body as a mask.” 

“That’s...disturbing.”

“Not quite as disturbing as you sat there giving me sage advice.” I stop pushing my breakfast around again. Surely it’s cold by now as well as charred. “So you told Simon not to text me, did you?” 

“Well, yeah…” Dev averts his eyes. “But he did.” 

“What do you mean, he _did_?” I ask. I’ve not checked my mobile this morning. In fact I can’t recall what happened to it last night, now that I think of it. I just remember Niall pushing pyjamas into my arms and telling me to change and get into bed. Which I did in a haze—I’m not used to Xanax anymore, and it worked entirely too well to calm me down. If putting me straight to sleep counts as calming me down, that is. I still feel like I’m toeing a line somewhere between sleep and consciousness. 

Dev reaches back again—into his other jeans pocket this time—and brandishes my mobile with a flourish. It’d be work not to chastise him if I weren’t so bloody tired.

“Why’ve you done that?”

He has the cheek to look innocent. “What?” 

“For fuck’s sake, you know _what_.”

“I didn’t want him bothering you, not last night—”

“He’s not a _bother_ —”

“It would’ve only been trouble. Probably you would’ve done something rash, and then you’d have never forgiven yourself for it, and I’d be digging you out of a much deeper hole than you’re in right now.” 

“I see. So you’re saying it’s more me you were worried over than him.” 

“Hm. Yeah, that’s it. Didn’t trust you to say what’s in your heart, mate. Not last night. Not after what happened.” 

I hate to think he’s right, though I must admit he probably is. Who knows what I would’ve said to Simon if I’d had the chance last night? It’s embarrassing enough, what I said to him outside the cinema. If I’d had the protection of a screen between us, I might’ve told him to fuck right off just to save myself. I might’ve done, and it makes me sick to think about it. 

“Well. Have you deemed me sane enough to read my own text messages now? Or must I keep on waiting?” 

He rolls his eyes before sliding my mobile across the table to me. 

I sigh when I swipe it open. “Jesus Christ, you fuckwit. You’ve read them, and now he’ll think—”

“Keep on reading, mate.”

 

**Fit Idiot (12:54 am):** hey

**Fit Idiot (12:55 am):** i know you wont see this till mornign since your sleeping

**Fit Idiot (12:55 am):** but i jsut want to say sorry if this is my fault

**Fit Idiot (12:55 am):** & i still want to take you on that date

**Fit Idiot (12:56 am):** but i get it if you dont want to 

**Fit Idiot (12:56 am):** just

**Fit Idiot (12:56 am):** jsut let me know either way

**Fit Idiot (12:57 am):** i jsut need to know if you want this too

**Fit Idiot (12:57 am):** please

**Baz (1:00 am):** this is all very touching mate but i told you not to text him yet

**Fit Idiot (1:02 am):** you screening his bloody texts now

**Baz (1:02 am):** just trust me on this

**Baz (1:02 am):** let him come to you

**Fit Idiot (1:03 am):** yeah alright

**Baz (1:03 pm):** did you know your called Fit Idiot in his phone lmao

**Fit Idiot (1:04 am):** right

 

“ _Why_ ,” I start as I set my mobile facedown against the table. “Why the _fuck_ would you tell him _that_?”

Dev stops mid-slurp of tea. “What?”

“That I bloody well called him _Fit Idiot_ in my fucking mobile, you absolute numpty! What the _fuck_ could’ve possessed you to make you think _that_ was a _good idea_?” I make sure to insert more fucking venom with every word, because this is _it,_ surely. Simon told me he was afraid I thought he was stupid, and now he’ll have that confirmed—even though it isn’t true in the slightest—as well as think me a liar. I told him he wasn’t stupid. I _told_ him. And it was true. 

Godfuckingdamn it.

“Oh,” Dev says, as if he’s not royally fucked up the already-miniscule chance I had. “Forgot about that, honestly. It’s _fine_ —”

“It’s not bloody _fine._ You’re a raging idiot—”

He throws his hands in the air. “And here you were a few minutes ago telling me I was a font of information—”

“Those most certainly _were not_ my words. Furthermore—” Fuck, if I weren’t so angry I think I’d be crying again. Or maybe I will anyway. “Furthermore,” I swallow the growing lump in my throat, then swallow it again because _fuck._ _“Why_ would Simon want to be with someone who thinks he’s _stupid_?” 

Dev’s face softens. “Mate. Fucking hell, calm down, will you? It’s not worth it, getting all worked up. He’s _fine._ Just tell him the truth: you use the word _idiot_ as a term of endearment. It’s not like you _actually_ think he’s an idiot.” He shrugs. “Unless you do. Do you, still?” 

I sigh and pick my mobile back up, turn it over and over itself in my hand. “I hate you; I hope you know.”

“Sure y’do, mate,” Dev says. Then he grabs the bottle of ketchup and starts coating my breakfast with it. “Eat up,” he says.

I do.

 

**SIMON**

 

I wake up thinking about Baz, but it doesn’t feel quite as good as it usually does. It doesn’t feel _good_ at all. 

I don’t think I slept very well.

I was up late, worrying about him. Worrying about _us,_ even if there’s not an us, not yet. Wanting to talk to him. 

I just wanted to _talk_ to him. (I still want to.) To understand. And like, I get that I probably shouldn’t do that right now—talk to him, I mean—because he made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to, when he left the cinema last night. But I just…

Something’s not right. I think there’s something he’s not telling me, and I’ve no idea what that could be, but he keeps saying that I don’t _know_ him. Which is true, I guess, to a point. We’ve not had the time to _really_ get to know each other, but I’m trying to fucking change that, and he’s just so…

He’s just so _distant,_ sometimes. And I just wish I knew why. Even if the why is that he doesn’t want to date me. At least then I could try to move on.

I roll on my side and reach for my mobile. I check for messages before I look at the time, but there’s nothing from Baz. (I don’t know what I was expecting.) There’s a few from Penelope, but I don’t want to look at them. Not now. So I don’t. 

Fucking hell, it’s after noon. I’ve got work in a few hours, and I need to get myself up and ready.

Probably Baz won’t come in. He’s on the schedule, and I hope he does. I hope he’s there, so we can talk. Or at least try to talk. I don’t know.

I try not to think about it—about what happened, and about _him_ —while I get up. Have a piss. Brush my teeth. It’s not working, though. I can’t _not_ think about Baz. And I can’t _not_ think about what happened last night. It’s like trying not to think about an elephant that’s sat on my chest. Only with fewer broken ribs, I guess. And probably less smelly, now I think about it.

Probably not a great metaphor, honestly. 

Mum’s watching something on telly when I get to the sitting room.

“Morning, love,” she says. She doesn’t look up at me, which is good, probably. I’m not good at hiding my emotions at the best times, and I really don’t want her worrying about me. Still.

“Afternoon, now,” I say as I walk past her and into the kitchen. I could use some tea myself. And something to eat. I’m fucking famished. 

I’m stood in front of the fridge when Mum calls over the sound of the telly, “Oh, you’ll need to tell me all about your date!”

Fucking hell. “Wasn’t a date,” I mutter as I close the fridge. (Nothing in there looked good, anyway.) (Probably I’m projecting. Or something.)

I hear the telly fizz out. “What was that, love?” Mum says.

“S’nothing.”

I’m pouring some tea into a cup when Mum steps into the kitchen. She’s still in her pyjamas, and she’s got her long blonde hair piled on the top of her head in a messy bun. She looks tired, but that’s always. Probably a busy night at work. 

“What happened, then?” she asks. She’s looking at me so warmly it’s almost uncomfortable. She already knows something’s wrong, then. No point in denying it, I guess.

I catch myself rubbing my neck as I take a seat at the table. (It’s not a big table. It’s not like we host big family gatherings. Usually just my uncle, once in a while, and my gran, sometimes. And Penelope, of course, when she comes over.) (I set my mobile down here before I got my tea, just. Just in case. I push it to the side now, facedown.) Mum sits down beside me after she's refilled her cup.

"Um," I start. "I dunno, actually…"

“You aren’t eating.”

“No, just. Nothing sounded good, I dunno. I’ll have something in a bit.” I don’t drink my tea, either; I just stare at it and chew the inside of my mouth instead.

“Simon,” Mum says as she leans forward. “You don’t have to tell me. But I wish you would.”

“I just. _Really_ don’t know what happened. We were. Well, Penny and I got there, and things seemed okay. I mean, I was bricking it, and I think he was, too, but. Things seemed alright, after we had a chance to sort of, I dunno. Get through the initial shock or whatever. I had this idea, yeah? To, um.” I feel my ears starting to go red. _It’s just Mum,_ I think, but still. “He gets nervous easy, I think. Said he smokes when he’s nervous, and he was, when we got there. Smoking, I mean. And nervous. He lisps when he’s nervous, too; have I mentioned?” (I leave off the bit about how his lisp gets me kind of hot. And how the smoking sort of does, too, even though it’s not good for him.)

Mum’s lips quirk up and she nods. “You might’ve.”

“Right.” Fuck, it’s a wonder _she’s_ not given me a quota as well. (She wouldn’t.) “So, well. I thought it’d be good if we just…y’know…texted before the film instead. Like we usually do, yeah? And that worked fine. But then I mentioned his mum and. Well, I didn’t _mention_ her, but I asked something that made him _think_ about her. So then I felt shit about that—”

“Why’s that, love?”

“Hm?”

“Does he have a bad relationship with his mum?”

“Oh. Oh, no. She’s.” How do I say this? _Is_ there a good way to say it? Probably not. “Well. She’s dead. So.”

Mum’s face falls. “Poor love,” she says, and I know she means Baz, not me. “Was it recent?”

“Um.” Fuck, I’ve no idea, do I? Maybe Baz was right. Maybe I really _don’t_ know anything about him. “I dunno. It’s just. The few times she’s come up have been an accident. And I sort of want to ask, but. I think it’s hard for him.”

“It would be, yeah.” Mum sighs and lifts her tea to her lips. “I can’t imagine.”

I shrug. “Me neither,” I say. I don’t know what I’d do without her, my mum. Truly. It’s been hard enough, not having a dad, but it’s not like I _knew_ him first. It’s not like I had something to _lose._ He just…wasn’t. 

Mum smiles at me. It’s not a happy smile, not exactly. “Was he upset?”

“Well, he seemed alright, I guess. And I told him he could talk to me about it. About his mum, I mean, if he ever needs to. And he said okay, and then we texted some more, and I might’ve asked him to dinner, sort of?” 

“Sort of?”

“Yeah.” I let out a quiet huff and rub the back of my neck. “We have that questions list, y’know. The one I told you about? And he asked me one that was like ‘ _if you could have dinner with any person, living or dead, who would it be?’_ or something, and I told him it’d be him.” 

Mum huffs a laugh. “Clever,” she says.

I thought so too, at the time. But I’m not so sure anymore. “I guess. So then he said he’d go to dinner with me, and the film started, and I’ve really no idea what was going on because I couldn’t focus, but. I ended up holding his hand, and I thought that was _good,_ but then...” I sigh. 

Mum tilts her head to the side, just a bit. She’s not smiling, not really, and she looks so _tired,_ but I know she wants to hear. I know she wants to listen. “Take your time, love,” she says. 

I do, sort of. (Really I just want to get it all _out_.) I tell her how we held hands, and how that seemed alright, until it wasn’t. How he just _left._ How I went after him, because I was worried. How I found him outside, and how he shut me out. How I went back inside to tell Dev and Niall, and how they wouldn’t let me come with them. _Not yet,_ they said. And how _not yet_ sort of feels like _not ever,_ just now. 

How I’ve still got his coat, and his scarf. (I leave off the part about how I tried his coat on before bed last night, just to get the smell of him. And how I hung it in my wardrobe on the off-chance it’ll make my clothes smell that way, like a forest, and citrus, and smoke. Fucking hell.)

Mum listens. She’s always been good at that. And she takes my hand, to keep me from pulling at my hair. (I keep rubbing at the back of my neck with my other hand, anyway.) 

I growl. (I’ve done that a decent amount during this story, honestly.) “And...well, I guess I just want to know he’s alright. And if he even wants to date me, because he doesn’t act like it sometimes. But also I feel like there’s more to it than he’s letting on.” 

_Or maybe he just doesn’t like me,_ I think. _Maybe it’s just that fucking simple._

“Well, love. I think you’re right,” Mum says once I’ve been quiet for a few moments. (She always gives me that extra time, just in case.)

“Hm?” 

“About there being more to it.” She raises her brows at me, but not in a condescending way. “Do you think he’d spend all this time texting you if he didn’t fancy you? I certainly don’t.”

I shrug. And sigh. “Dunno,” I say, because I _don’t._ Baz is a fucking mystery wrapped up in...well, more mystery, I guess. “Dev—his friend, I mean—told me to give him space.” Which is absolute fucking _torture._ All I’ve wanted since I woke up is to find out if he’s alright. I just need to know he’s _okay_. 

And where I stand.

I play with my teacup—I’ve still not had any of my tea; probably it’s cold by now—and Mum squeezes my other hand. I squeeze back before I let go with a sigh. God, this fucking sucks.

“Give him time, love,” Mum says. “You don’t know the whole story—”

“Well, I wish he’d _tell_ me. Like. I just.” I huff, probably for the millionth time. “I don’t _get it._ Why he won’t.”

“Hm. Well.” Mum leaves her empty teacup on the table as she leans back. Her messy bun bobs on top of her head as she pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged in her chair. “Some people are open books. Baz isn’t, I don’t think. From what you’ve told me.”

“What’s that make him, then?” 

Mum pulls her bottom lip into her mouth while she thinks on it. (I do that, too, when I’m thinking hard on something.) “Some people,” she starts, “are more like a locked journal. Or a diary. Only a very special person has the key.” 

I snort, and that sets her off, too. 

“You asked,” she says with a laugh.

“Right, well. I dunno that I’ve got a _key_ to anything. Least of all Baz.” I think, not for the first time, that probably I’m not good enough for him, anyway. Why would someone like _Baz_ want to date someone like _me_? He’s too smart. Too fit. Too lovely, all around. And I’m just, well. _Me._

And whatever it is he’s not told me, it’s because he doesn’t think I’m good enough to know. Obviously.

“To continue my awful metaphor—don’t _laugh_ at your mother, Simon—” She’s smiling, now, because I can’t _not_ laugh at her, no matter how shit I feel about everything else right now. At least that’s something. “Maybe he’s just not ready to be unlocked yet—” 

“Fuck, Mum, that sounds…” Damn it, I’m _blushing._ What I’d bloody _give_ to unlock Baz. Be his first kiss. His _first…_

Mum is smirking at me. “Sounds _what_?”

“Nevermind—”

“Oh, no, you’ve dug yourself a hole, now,” she says. “Go on, finish—” 

That’s when my mobile starts vibrating against the table. Penny, maybe, checking in on me. I don’t _want_ to be checked in on. Not really. 

Still, it’s a good time for an interruption, thank fuck. Though I don’t think Mum’s likely to drop the subject. Embarrassing me in good humour is a pastime of hers, I think. 

 “Sorry,” I tell her, then I pick it up to ignore the call and—

 It’s not Penny. 

 “Oh my God,” I say.

 “What love?”

 “It’s him. Fuck, it’s _Baz_. He’s never called before—”

 “You’d better answer it, then,” Mum says with a smile. “Go on.”

 “Right, yeah.” I nearly trip over my chair as I jump out of it. Fuck, my mobile’s still ringing, too. I hit the answer button before he starts thinking I’m ignoring him. And before I can think too much on the possibility that he's calling to say it's all over. (Whatever it is.) “Hey,” I say as I head back down the corridor to my room. “Baz. Fuck, hi. Are you. _Jesus_.”

 “I am decidedly not Jesus,” Baz says. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard his voice over a telephone. So _weird,_ I think, how people can talk to each other from so far away. Though to be fair I’m not sure exactly where he lives. (Still.) 

 I can’t help but huff a nervous laugh at his joke. “Are you alright, is what I meant,” I say as I drop down onto my bed. “Are you alright?” 

 “Better, now,” he says. He doesn’t elaborate. 

 “Okay. Okay. It’s just. Fuck, you scared the hell out of me.”

 He’s quiet for a moment, then, “Well. I certainly didn’t mean to.” He’s lisping, and I feel like I might melt just from the sound of it. Bloody hell, I’m in fucking deep. 

 “Hey, so. Um. What happened? Y’just. Did I go too fast for you, I mean.” 

“What?”

“Um. Y’know. I held your hand. I thought maybe—”

“No, Snow; I told you. It’s not you.” 

“Right, so. Right. Okay.” Still, I can’t help remembering how he seemed alright _until_ I held his hand, like I somehow set him off or something. “Are you sure?”

“Jesus Christ, Snow. _Yes._ I’m sure. I’d.” He sighs. “Well, I’d love to put it behind us. What happened last night.”

I’m not sure what he means. Maybe he wants to forget _everything._ Me asking about his mum again, like an idiot. Me asking for a date. The handholding. All of it. 

“D’you mean, like...just forget the whole thing? I thought there was some good stuff in there, too, yeah? I liked—” Maybe I shouldn’t say it, that I _liked_ holding his hand. Especially since he ran off afterwards; that wasn’t exactly a good confidence boost. _But._ “Well, I liked spending time with you. And…” Fucking hell, I think my whole body’s blushing at this point. “And the bit at the end. Y’know. When I held your hand.”

He doesn’t say anything. _Fuck._

“We can forget about the rest,” I say, quickly. “If you want, I mean. It’s not. It’s not important. I mean, it is. But it’s okay. Whatever you were feeling. It’s okay.” I’m afraid he’s not going to say anything. That that’s _it._ Christ, maybe I should just ask. I’ll just ask. “Did you. Did you like it? Before you left, I mean.” 

He takes a deep breath, so deep I can hear it over the phone. Then he says, “Yeah,” so quietly I almost miss it. And that’s it. Fucking hell, this has to be the most awkward conversation we’ve ever had. Probably I should just stop talking about last night.

I scratch at my scalp with my free hand. “So, um. I guess you probably saw that I texted.”

“I did,” Baz says, much quicker now. Alright, no more talk about last night, then. “Dev. Well, I’m sorry Dev responded the way he did.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “It’s just. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize for anything, is all.” I imagine him rolling his lovely grey eyes at me. Or raising his eyebrow. Both, maybe. 

“Yes, well,” he says. Yeah, definitely an eye roll. “Don’t get used to it.” 

I laugh again, because things feel _normal_ now. Or at least closer to it. I stretch out my legs and settle back into my pillow with one arm behind my head. “Am I really called _Fit Idiot_ in your phone, then?”

There’s a pause. And a sigh. (Maybe even a little huffed laugh, which I’d bloody well love to hear again, honestly.) “Yeah.”

“I remember Dev saying that. At Trixie’s party, I mean. When I found you on the veranda.” Fucking hell, it seems like a lifetime ago. Though I guess it’s only really been a month. Maybe not even that long. All I know now is that I can’t remember what life was like without Baz. I guess Penny’s right. Maybe I _am_ obsessed with him. 

Fuck, is that a bad thing? 

“Yes, well. First impressions, all that,” Baz says, and then he sighs again. I can almost see him running one of his perfect hands through his perfect hair. “You know that I meant it, Simon, yes? When I said you aren’t stupid.”

I do remember. I can’t forget. It meant a lot, coming from him. It’s hard to think yourself smart, when you can barely make words sometimes. When you have to listen to someone else read a book, because you can hardly read the first few sentences without getting frustrated. When you’re, well. _Me._

“So you don’t think I’m an idiot,” I say, grinning. 

“Well, I wouldn’t go _that_ far.” There he is. _Baz._

I snort. “Right. So. What about the _fit_ part? That true?” I’m nervous to ask, but I can’t help it. I just…

Well, I need to know. 

All I can hear is the sound of him breathing on the other end. Probably I’ve made him nervous, too. I almost think he’s not going to answer, and maybe I should say something, to cut through the awkward silence. But then he says, “Well. What do _you_ think, Snow?” This absolute _prat._

“I think that’s not a proper answer,” I tell him.

He scoffs. “Fine. Have you _seen_ yourself?”

“Baz. That’s. Still not an answer.” 

“ _Fuck,_ you’re insufferable—"

"And cute; you said so once."

"And bloody well fit, you numpty." Christ, he sounds well agitated. (I'm chuffed myself, if I'm honest. I’ve even got butterflies.)

“Really?” I ask. I’m grinning. (I can’t stop grinning.)

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” he lisps. “Please don’t make me say it again. It’s supposed to go poetically unsaid.”

“Poetically unsaid?” I repeat. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but how the fuck am I supposed to know how he feels if he doesn’t _tell_ me so? 

I suppose that’s not important just now. What’s important is that he’s talking to me, and that he’s okay. I think. 

“I’m not,” he starts, and I think I might’ve just heard him swallow. (I can see it, him swallowing. Him nervous. Stood in his posh flat, probably, dressed in his posh clothes and smelling of whatever that lovely stuff is he uses.) “I’m not _good_ at giving compliments—”

“ _You can say that again_ —” Dev’s still there, apparently.

“Would you _fuck off_?!” Baz yells. It sounds different, like maybe he’s covering his mobile with his hand.

“ _Hiya Simon!_ ” Dev calls.

I’m not sure if I should be cross with him. I don’t think I am, not really. He helped Baz last night, and stayed with him; that’s what matters. “Tell him _hello_ for me, yeah?” I say. 

“Yes, alright,” Baz says. “Well. I need to go. Work in a few hours. I need to have a shower.” 

It’s my turn to swallow. Fucking hell, I didn’t need _that_ visual. (Well, I _did,_ but maybe not just now. Like, while he’s still on the phone. Fuck. _Fuck._ ) “Right. Yeah, um. Me too.” I can only fucking hope that gets him as flustered as I am right now. 

“Yes. I’ll see you at work then, Snow.” He’s lisping _worse,_ I think, and that just bloody well sets me off more, doesn’t it? I palm myself through my trousers because I can’t fucking help it. Just to get some bloody relief.

“Right. Bye, then,” I say, and I hang up. _Fuck._

So much for him being dressed in his posh clothes.

 

**BAZ**

 

I thought about telling Simon everything, when I called him. 

 Then I didn’t. I _can’t._ Not yet. It’s too _much,_ and I’m just not ready.

 Dev hasn’t let me hear the end of it, of course. I had to lock myself in the bathroom just to have some peace while I dressed for work, and even then he was shouting at me through the door. 

 “Bollocks, you’re not _ready_ ,” he’s saying now as we walk towards the shop from the carpark. (We didn’t drive together, even though we came from the same place. He plans on actually going home tonight.) (I _need_ him to go home tonight.) “You’ll never _be_ ready. You have to rip the bloody plaster off—” 

 “Do shut up; he’s bound to be here any moment.” It comes out much calmer than I expect it to. Well. At least I’m still capable of putting on an air of normalcy.

 “Good, then,” Dev says, and I don’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes. “Maybe he’ll overhear me and ask you himself—”

 I look at him now, level him with it. “I’m _going_ to tell him. Just not _right now._ ” It’s not a lie. And I _know_ that if I allow myself to put it off I’ll just _keep_ putting it off. 

 Because, well. Just because I've called Simon and had a chat doesn't mean I've magically shed my anxiety. I most certainly have _not._ In fact, it’s possible I feel even more nauseated than I did when I first woke up this morning. Dev likes to remind me that I probably wouldn’t feel this way if I’d already gotten what I need to say off my chest. I like to tell him to get fucked. 

 I had a stress wank in the shower before we left the flat, because it was _easier_ to have a stress wank than to tell Simon Salisbury that I’m cracked. Also because I don’t think I imagined the way his voice dropped after I told him I was about to shower. And also because he told me _he_ was going to shower and fuck if _that_ didn’t paint a detailed picture in my overly active mind. I tried to make it quick, in any case, which isn't always easy with my medication (though the visual of Simon possibly doing the same made it much easier). 

 We walk in through the café door (it’s closer to the carpark than the main entrance) and I’m surprised I’m composed enough not to be sick all over the floor. Snow isn’t there when I glance behind the counter, however, and my heart sinks even as a wave of relief washes over me. I could’ve sworn he started at the same time as me today. 

  _What if he's died?_ I think, and it sends a jolt of fresh anxiety through me until I breathe into it, _lean_ into it. 

 “Afternoon, lads!” Ebb calls. 

 “Think I’ll get something before we clock in,” Dev says. “Want anything? Tea?”

 “No. No, I’m just going to put my things away,” I tell him, and I keep walking.

 I keep thinking about Simon—or, more accurately, the fact that I actually _called_ him, earlier. I don’t think I’ve ever even _texted_ him first, but I had to call after the shit Dev pulled. I reasoned it would’ve been worse, to make Simon wait until work, to make him think I didn’t even care enough to contact him. The thought of that was worse than the anxiety, though it did still take me an hour or so to build up the courage. To light a match. 

 “ _It’ll be like exposure therapy, or whatever!”_ Dev said, the tosser. Problem was he was right. (I didn’t tell him so, but he knew.)

  _Well_ , I think as I punch in the code for the break room, _the real exposure therapy will start when I actually see him, when I actually_ —

  _Oh._

 “Hey,” Snow says. He’s stood across the room, next to the sink, and it all comes crashing back. The way I rushed out of the auditorium. The way I left him. The way he held my hand, Jesus _fucking_ Christ…

 He must’ve been tying his apron when I walked in, because he finishes up with his hands behind his back before he smooths down the front and grins at me. “Um. Yeah.” 

 I let the door click shut behind me. _Don’t fucking turn around,_ I tell myself. My heart’s threatening to beat right up my throat and out of my mouth. It’s work not to back into the door, not to open it back up, and hand in my resignation, and _leave._ Just leave. _Go._

  _No._ No, not fucking _again._ Not an option. 

 “Hey yourself, Snow,” I say, and it comes out a jumble of slurs falling over each other and godfuckingdamn it, I should keep my mouth shut and never speak again. Bloody fucking hell. 

 He takes a step forward, and I flinch. His face falls a little but he steps back again, away. (He wears his heart on his sleeve, I’ve noticed. I don’t know how he manages.) “Hey, um. Look, it’s good to see you, yeah?”

 “Yeah.” I nod, too, in case he doesn’t believe me. I just can’t say it back. I _can’t._

 “Thanks, y’know,” he says. “For calling me, earlier. Just, well. I’m glad you’re okay. That’s all I wanted. To know you were okay.”

 I nod again, then I make myself walk over to the coat rack, unbuttoning as I go. I just wish he would stop fucking talking about last night. Not that it would help me forget.

 “Oh, um. I have your coat. And your scarf. Just. I forgot to bring them?” It sounds like a question.

 Truth be told, I think I'd all but forgotten them. 

 “That’s alright; I’ve another coat, obviously,” I say as I hang it next to everyone else’s. 

 “I’m bringing my mobile out, like. If you want to bring yours. Could talk.”

 “I don’t know if there’ll be time for that; it’ll probably be a madhouse here tonight.” _A perfect place for me,_ I think as I start emptying the contents of my pockets into my locker. I still my hand on my mobile in the back pocket of my jeans. Then I glance over at Snow and sigh. “Alright then.” 

 He smiles like the sun, and I’d give fucking anything— _anything_ —to have the nerve to walk up to him, right now, and push him into that counter, to shove my face into his and slip my tongue into his mouth. 

 I don’t. 

  _I hope you bloody well know what you mean to me,_ I think as we leave the break room, _if I’m willing to break the bloody rules for you._

 If only I could tell him. 

 

* * *

 

**Fit Idiot (3:14 pm):** im gonna say smth thatll prob be weird

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(3:15 pm):** That’s never stopped you before, has it?

**Fit Idiot (3:15 pm):** **🙄🙄🙄** prat

**Fit Idiot (3:16 pm):** anyway you always smell relwly god

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(3:16 pm):** First I was Jesus, and now I'm God? Honestly, Snow. If I didn't know any better I'd say this was some poor attempt at flattery.

**Fit Idiot (3:17 pm):** omfg its a tupo

**Fit Idiot (3:17 pm):** a typo gd it

**Fit Idiot (3:17 pm):** & what im saying is you smell nice 

**Fit Idiot (3:18 pm):** what is it

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(3:18 pm):** Essential oils of cedar and bergamot.

**Fit Idiot (3:18 pm):** bergawot 

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(3:21 pm):** Google it.

**Fit Idiot (4:01 pm):** googs says its good for anxiety

**Fit Idiot (4:02 pm):** that what you use it for

**Fit Idiot (4:02 pm):** you dont have to say but I wish uou woudl

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(4:46 pm):** Just because I didn't answer right away doesn't mean I was ignoring your question.

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(4:47 pm):** The shop's just getting busier.

**Fit Idiot (4:50 pm):** yeah same over here

 

* * *

 

**Imbecilic Relation (4:55 pm):** you know, I remember how you used to bitch at me for bringing my mobile on the floor 

**Imbecilic Relation (4:57 pm):** and dont think I didn't see that look of bitter disappointment just now when u checkrd ur phone and it was me instead of prince chsrming

**Baz (5:00 pm):** Hasn't some damnable customer left a mess for you to clean up somewhere?

**Imbecilic Relation (5:01 pm):** u going to tell him?

**Baz (5:04 pm):** Fuck off.

**Imbecilic Relation (5:05 pm):** I've been getting so many compliments on this shirt btw

**Imbecilic Relation (5:05 pm):** can I keep it?

 

* * *

 

**Simon (6:32 pm): [ UNSENT DRAFT ]** i keep wanting to ask if you atill want to go on a date

**Simon (6:36 pm): [ UNSENT DRAFT ]** i never did get to ask you on a prowpr date like. besides that whole whod iwant to have dinner with thkng

**Simon (6:41 pm): [ UNSENT DRAFT ]** secretly i didnt actualy forget your coat. my wardrobe smells like you now & i sort of wamted to hold onto it a little longer. JFC DO NOT SEND THAT

**Fit Idiot (6:46 pm):** so 

**Fit Idiot (6:47 pm):** how would you liek to spend a friday night? never did say

 

* * *

 

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(7:08 pm):** I like peace and quiet. 

**Fit Idiot (7:11 pm):** do you have to be alone for that

**Baz (7:12 pm): [ UNSENT DRAFT ]** Simon. There’s something I need to tell you. You need to know before we do this. Any of it. 

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(7:15 pm):** Not necessarily. 

 

* * *

 

**Imbecilic Relation (7:32 pm):** so you going to tell him tonight

**Baz (7:33 pm):** Do you think you’ll get what you want if you just keep repeating yourself?

**Imbecilic Relation (7:33 pm):** yes?

 

* * *

 

**Fit Idiot (8:46 pm):** hey stop over here before you go up front

**Fit Idiot (8:46 pm):** have smth for yuo

**Fit Idiot (8:46 pm):** **🦖🦖🦖**

 

* * *

 

 

**BAZ**

 

I’m at the bloody register from nine till eleven, of fucking course. 

As if everything going on with Simon isn’t enough, today has been a complete shitshow. One question after another. Books thrown about in corners and on tables, because people think they’re entitled to leave a mess for some nonsensical reason. I don’t even want to _think_ about what the children’s section probably looks like right now, but Dev’s assigned to clean it tonight so I’m not about to worry myself over it. Serves him right, in my opinion. 

 The bustle is beginning to slow down, and thank fuck for that. I’ve enough adrenaline pumping through me on any given day; I don’t need _more_ inflicted on me by crazed Christmas shoppers. 

 It’s pumped up again in any case, since I read that text from Simon. _I have something for you._ All I can think is that he’s about to try and ask me out again, and if that’s true I should probably start considering the possibility that he’s a lunatic himself. Or at least a glutton for punishment. A _fit idiot._ He’s living up to that, at least. 

 It’s nearly nine o’clock by the time I’m able to tear myself away from the information desk, but it’s Dev I’ll be relieving at the register so I couldn’t care less if I’m late. In fact, I think I’ll take my time in getting over there. 

 The café crowd has simmered down a bit, but Simon still has a line at his register. He’s taking orders while Ebb makes coffees and lattes and teas like mad. (I’ve always thought she might be a least a little neurotic, though I suppose that makes her a kindred spirit. She and Fiona have been friends as long as my aunt’s been dating Nicodemus; maybe even longer, and I suspect she might know about me, though she’s never said.) It’s exhausting watching her work, but she still manages to make it look easy, somehow.

 I step into the queue behind an older gentleman just as the blonde girl in front of him steps up to the counter. 

 “How’s it going?” Simon says with a smile. Just the sight of him sends a shock through my belly. Bloody _asinine._

 “Lovely, thank you,” she says. I can practically hear her melting from here. Not that I blame her. 

 “What can I do you for?” he asks, and I can’t help but watch him. He’s been working hard; his shirt is rumpled beneath his apron, and some of his curls are stood on end (which manages to be infuriatingly adorable). He’s rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows, but one looks like it’s threatening to slide back down to cover his forearm. Which would be a fucking crime. 

 He’s listening to her rattle off an order—a Pumpkin Spice Latte, how banal—and writing on her cup when his eyes flit up to mine. He smiles at me before turning his attention back to the cup and his customer. It sets my insides on fire and my cheeks to burning. Jesus Christ.

 “It’s Simon, isn’t it?” the blonde girl says. ( _Obviously,_ I think. It’s work not to roll my eyes. His name badge is pinned to his apron.) She can’t be much older or younger than we are, surely, though I’ve not caught a decent glimpse of her face, just glances of profile. 

 “That’s right, yeah,” Simon says as he passes the cup to Ebb and gives the girl her total.

 “It’s just,” she says, and she starts to lean towards him. Oh. _Oh._ Well of fucking _course_ she’s attracted to him. It’s a miracle he’s not had customers fawning over him like this on the hour. “I’ve been in a few times this week and...I was thinking maybe you’d like to grab a coffee sometime? You know. When you aren’t on the clock.” 

 Simon clearly wasn’t expecting that. His eyebrows raise at the same time his lips drop open. It’d be ridiculous if I weren’t this far gone. “Oh,” he says. “Um.” He starts rubbing at the back of his head and _fuck_. 

  _Fuck,_ he’ll say _yes_ , won’t he? She’s lovely, I suppose, at least what I can see of her. Probably more so for someone who’s actually attracted to women. Which Simon is. _Fuck,_ he _is._

  _This could be it,_ I think. My chance to get away. Simon’s chance to take up with someone else, someone _normal._ It’d be better this way. It’s a relief, really. But also I feel like I might be sick. Or cry, even though I’m certain I don’t have any tears left in me after last night. 

 No, it’s for the best.

 Still, _still._ There’s something clawing at my insides, up into my chest. _Jealousy._ I’m _jealous_ of Ms. Pumpkin Spice Latte. How fucking clichéd.

 I force myself to stop staring daggers into the back of her head, and then I glance at Simon. He’s looking at me, too, and when our eyes meet, his lips quirk up crookedly. Then the moment’s gone, just like that, in a blink. 

 He looks back at her. “Sorry. I can’t. I’ve.” His eyes flit back to mine so quickly I almost miss it. “I’ve got someone,” he tells her. “And I really want it to work out, yeah?” 

  _Someone._

 I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe. 

 “Oh, that’s lovely,” Ms. Pumpkin Spice Latte says, and I think she actually means it, damn her. “Well, I hope it works out for you.”

 “Yeah,” Simon says as he swipes her card. He’s grinning like an idiot. (I’d bloody well love to kiss it off him, that grin.) “Yeah, me too.” 

 I can hear Simon talking to the bloke in front of me, but I’ve no idea what they’re saying. 

  _Someone. I have someone._

 Oh, Jesus Christ. 

  _Breathe,_ I think, but it’s suddenly hard to fill my lungs with air; it just keeps getting stuck in my throat. 

 I clench my hand in a fist when I realize I’m chewing the side of my thumb. My knuckle cracks. I’m _cracked._

 I have to tell him now. I’ve no choice. I’ve no fucking _choice,_ not when he thinks I’m his _someone._ Not when he _wants it to work out._

 I came so close to telling him while I was on my lunch break. Or rather, I was going to tell him that there was something I need to tell him. Just one text. Just a string of words. _There’s something I need to tell you. You need to know before we do this. Any of it._ That’s all. That’s _it._ But I couldn’t even do that. 

 But I can. _Fuck,_ I can. Light a match. _Light a fucking match._

 Simon is smiling when the bloke in front of me steps off to the side to wait for his order. Smiling at me. There’s a flush creeping out from his collar. It’s spread over his nose and across his cheeks, and somehow I know it isn’t because he’s warm. (Though he has told me he gets overheated while he works; he’s like a bloody human furnace.) (I assume.) (Sometimes I imagine what it’d be like to be wrapped up in him. To be _warm._ To let _him_ keep me warm.) 

 My heart is beating so hard I imagine it’s like to stop. _What happens after we die?_ A surge of nausea. _Fuck off. Light a match._

 Light a match. 

 Simon’s grin gets wider (and maddeningly crookeder) when I step up to his counter. “Hey,” he says. It comes out like a breathy sigh, like relief, maybe. He’s about to give me heart palpitations, the fucking beautiful moron. Damn it _fuck,_ he’s such a beautiful moron. And there’s a sheen of sweat along his neck that I’d like to lick off of him. Because maybe, _maybe,_ he’d start to make more noises like that. Because of me. _For_ me. 

 Jesus fucking Christ.  

 My words are lodged somewhere behind my tongue, so I just nod at him. No. _No,_ fuck that. “Hey yourself,” I slur. “You beckoned me.” 

 He huffs a laugh. “Guess so.” Then he picks up a cup that’s already been filled with a drink. There’s a shoddy dinosaur drawn on the side. “Made this for you,” he says, then he sets it down and goes to grab the whipped cream. “Didn’t put the cream on yet,” he says as he shakes the cannister. “Y’know. So it wouldn’t melt?”

 Racing heart. Heart palpitations. Heart about to burst. I don’t fucking know where I stand right now. It’s a bloody miracle I’m _standing_ at all, with the way my knees feel like they’ve turned to water. 

 There’s no way I deserve him. 

  _But what if you do?_

 Simon adds a ridiculous amount of cream to my cup. Then his brows knit together and he picks it up, along with his Sharpie. 

 “You’ve already drawn me an emaciated tyrannosaurus,” I point out. 

 “‘S not _emaciated._ He’s got character. And also, like—” he sets the drink down in front of me, caps his marker “—they’ve got dinky arms anyway. Or they did, y’know.” I think he’s blushing _harder,_ if that’s possible. “Just. Take it, yeah? It’s paid for. And also it’s decaf. I thought. Well, I thought that’d be better. Like, not in a _bad_ way, just—”

 “Simon.” I have to stop him before he hurts himself. “Thank you.” 

 He gives me that lovely grin again. “You’re welcome.” 

 I pick up my Pumpkin Mocha Breve—decaf, because Simon Salisbury is the world’s sweetest moron—and pull some of the cream into my mouth. I do it just to watch his ears turn red. 

 “I’m late for the register,” I say.

 “Dev’ll be worked up to a strop by now. Nearly ten after.”

 “Good.” 

 I force myself to smile at him—just a bit, just a quirk of my lips—even though I’m certain I’m about to die at his feet. Or at least swoon. And then I turn on my heel and head towards the registers.

Dev is busy with a customer when I get behind the counter, so I take that last moment of peaceful silence to read what Simon wrote on my cup. 

Below my derpy dinosaur he’s written three simple words: _I meant it_

 

**SIMON**

 

I realized, earlier, that Baz never did say whether he still wanted this when we talked on the phone. 

 That’s what I asked him when I texted last night. Before Dev told me to wait. 

 And now I’m thinking maybe he’s avoiding answering the question. Baz, I mean. (Not Dev, obviously. Fucking hell, I can’t imagine trying to date _Dev._ ) Or maybe he just forgot, like I did. (I can’t fucking believe I _forgot._ )

 He has to know that _I_ still want it. That I still want _him._

 Fuck, it was well embarrassing when that customer asked me out right in front of him, but I guess it was a good thing, in the end. Otherwise he wouldn’t have heard me say those things. I might not have _said_ them at all, at least not yet. But it was true. It was all true. He’s it, and I’m just here hanging on the hope that everything’s going to work out eventually. I can be patient, even if it sucks. I can wait for him to be ready. 

 We’ve not had much chance to text since he went off to his register. He’s been busy over there, and we’ve been busy here, so at least the time’s going by fast. 

 I felt my mobile vibrate in the pocket of my trousers a few minutes ago, and I’ve been trying to hurry through the queue just so I can get to it. Get to Baz. 

 He’s not said anything about what I said earlier. About him, and how I want things to work out. About how I wrote that I _meant it_ , on his cup. I guess I don’t really expect his text to be about that, either. It’s like Mum said, he’s not an open book. But fucking hell, he’s so hard to read. I _know_ when he’s nervous, because of the lisp. Everything else is just a mystery. _Baz_ is a bloody mystery. 

 I work through my queue, then I listen to make sure Ebb’s still in the back. It sounds like she’s washing dishes. Not much of a chance that she’ll come back out here in the next few minutes, then. 

 I pull my mobile out of my trousers and check my messages beneath the counter. (I hold it in my left hand so it’ll at least be hidden behind me, if Ebb comes out. Though I don’t really think she’d care, honestly. It’s not like I haven’t been working my arse off all night.) 

 

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(10:46 pm):** I have something I need to tell you. About what happened last night. 

 

Oh. Fuck, I thought we weren’t ever going to mention that again. Not that I don’t want to know. I mean, I _think_ I do. Unless he’s going to tell me he doesn’t fancy me back. Oh, _fuck._

 I glance at his register and try to catch his eye, but he’s got a queue of his own. It’s less than five minutes to close, and Dev made the last minute announcement not too long ago. He’s there, too, helping Baz work through the queue. 

 

**Simon (10:57 pm):** yeah ok

 

I’m not sure what else to say just now. I just need something to get my mind off of all this, off of the possibility that Baz is about to tell me he doesn’t want this. That I’m not his _someone._ That he doesn’t want it to work out.

 I sigh, and pull my hand out of my hair. 

 Then I pocket my mobile, grab my spray bottle and a cloth, and head out to start cleaning tables.

 

**BAZ**

 

I’m squatting in front of a bookcase, straightening the books and trying my damnedest not to vomit, when Simon Salisbury bloody well strides over and squats next to me. 

 I’m not fucking ready for this. Of course, I _told_ him in my last text that I’ve something to tell him. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to tell him _now._ (I’ll never be ready. I’m never going to be ready for this. But I’d like to do it in a more dignified position, and preferably not face-to-face, if I can manage it.) (I should _make_ myself do it face-to-face. That’s what my therapists would’ve told me. That’s what my _mother_ would’ve told me. To face it head-on.)

 “Hey,” Simon says. He’s so close that his elbow brushes against mine. The friction makes me flinch.

 I don’t look at him; I just continue with my work. “What’re you doing, Snow? Don’t you have a café to clean?” 

 “It’s done. Ebb told me to come out here and see if you needed help.”

 I work my way up to the next shelf, moving my hands quickly over the spines, turning books cover-side out to fill the gaps. “Me specifically?”

 “Well, no. Just, like. In general.” 

 I can see him following my hands out of the corner of my eye. (I just hope he can’t see the way they’re shaking.) Then he turns to the case next to me and tentatively reaches for the books. 

 “You don’t know how to do that, Snow,” I say as I stand to reach the next shelf. I’ll be done with this case before he’s even finished half a shelf, surely. 

 “How hard can it be?” he says. The sound of him shuffling the books is almost abrasive. Snow doesn’t do anything gently. _Except hold your hand,_ I remind myself. 

 I want him to do that again. To hold my hand. He _liked_ it; he told me so. 

 “Still. It needs to be done a certain way,” I say as I start on the top shelf of this bookcase. 

 Snow huffs a laugh. “What, is Nico OCD about it or something?”

 My stomach drops to the floor as nervous saliva pools in my mouth. I feel that _jolt_ , just like I do every fucking time, every time someone says _that,_ so fucking flippantly. It’s like a knife being twisted in my belly, and it makes me see red. 

 I stop moving, but only for a moment. Simon goes on as if he hasn’t just said something utterly stupid, but of course he wouldn’t know. _Nobody_ fucking knows. 

 I close my eyes and swallow the anger. The fear. The urge to run away again, and to stay away, this time. 

  _No,_ I think. _No. Light a match._

 I open my eyes. “Do you even know what that means?” I ask. There’s venom in it, _true_ venom. I think this is the first time I’ve ever been angry with him. (I don’t like it.) 

 “What?” Simon says. I can practically hear his furrowed brow. 

 I shake my head and sigh. Go back to my books. “Nevermind.” No. No, of course he doesn’t know what it _means._

 He’ll learn, perhaps. He’ll _have_ to, if he wants to be with me. 

 “Alright…” He stands and keeps up the pretense of fixing his bookcase for a few moments before growling and dropping his hands. “Look, are you trying to tell me you don’t want to do this?”

 I don’t look at him. “This? What’s _this,_ Snow?”

 He sighs. I can see him pulling at his hair out of the corner of my eye. “It’s just. You said you wanted to talk. So I figured I’d come over now, and you can let me down easy. Or whatever. Because I still want this. But if you don’t—”

 I sigh and turn to him, hold onto my bookcase to steady myself. “Simon. _No._ I’ve told you. It’s not _you_ —”

 “Yeah, but. You keep saying that. Like, _it’s not you, it’s me,_ or whatever. But that still sounds like you don’t want—”

 “It _is_ me, you dolt. And I’ve not said—” I try to sigh my lisp away, but I doubt that’ll work. _Fuck._ “I’ve not said I don’t want it. What I’m saying is…” I breathe deep, close my eyes. Jesus Christ, this is harder than I thought. “What I’m saying is that once I tell you what I have to tell you, _you_ might not want this. And I wouldn’t blame you.”

 His brow knits together. The confusion looks like it hurts. (Maybe it does.) “Look,” he sighs, his eyes settling somewhere over my shoulder. “I don’t.” And then he looks at _me,_ in my eyes, and I want to shrink away. I force myself to hold his gaze, even though it’s fucking torture. “I actually, literally don’t think that there’s much of anything you could say that would make me change my mind. And I don’t know what it is you’re so afraid of, but like. Don’t be.” 

 He steps towards me then, and I force myself to stand my ground. Don’t back away. _Don’t back away._

 His eyes are searching my face, searching for _something._ Maybe for the answers he thinks I have. The answers he’s not going to want, once I give them to him. And I think, just for a moment, that maybe he’s going to…

 I feel my breath hitch when his eyes land on my lips. No. _No._ Not yet. 

 “What’re you doing, Snow?” 

 He’s inches away now. He’s right _here,_ in my space. He’s close enough to reach out and touch me. To reach out and _kiss_ me. He’s close enough for me to vomit all over those hideous non-slip shoes he has to wear. Fuck, I’d never be caught dead in those. Jesus Christ. 

 “Dunno,” he says. “Just—”

 “Oi!” Dev. _Fucking_ Dev. I can see him over Snow’s shoulder. I think I can even see him raising an eyebrow at us. “Nico says let’s go.”

 Simon moves away from me, backs up against the bookcase he was working on just a few minutes ago. Even in the low light I can tell he’s flushed. 

 “I’ve not finished!” I yell at Dev.

 “Says it’s fine. We’re over time.” 

 I check my watch. Fuck, it’s already past midnight. The shop was completely wrecked; it’s a miracle we’ve gotten as much done as we have. “Alright, we’re coming,” I say. 

 I can practically hear Dev thinking of a crude joke. Luckily he knows what’s good for him and turns back around. (For once.)

 Simon watches Dev go before he glances back at me. “How d’you take your tea?” he whispers. It’s the sexiest fucking whisper I’ve ever heard. 

 “What?” I whisper back. (I’ve no idea _why_ we’re whispering, but it’s more than a bit thrilling, I have to admit. Though I still feel like I might be sick.)

 He shrugs. “I figured I’d make us some. Cold outside, y’know. And tea’s good for talking, yeah?”

 Well. I suppose we’re doing this now. Fucking _fuck._ “You’ve already cleaned up,” I remind him. He shrugs again, and I sigh. “Alright, then. Just milk.”

 “Really? You like your coffee so sweet.”

 “Yes, well. That’s one thing.”

 Simon huffs and smiles at me. It makes my skin burn. “Alright. See you in the back,” he says, and then he turns and I have to watch him jog away. 

 I let myself enjoy the view, just for now. Just in case this talk goes to shit. Then I turn back to the bookcase, grab a shelf, and lean on it, head bowed, as I breathe. 

 And tell myself to light a match. 

 

**SIMON**

 

I think I almost kissed Baz back there, in the stacks. 

 That would’ve been a shit idea, I _know_ that. But sometimes when he’s talking, I just want to shut him up and _show_ him that I’m serious. Especially now, since he seems to think I won’t want him after we talk about...whatever it is we’re going to talk about. 

 It’s a good thing I didn’t. Kiss him, I mean. Who knows what he would’ve done, considering just holding his hand last night made him run off. Even if he _did_ tell me he liked it. (I keep reminding myself that he told me he liked it, even though I _did_ have to force it out of him, pretty much.) Leave it to Dev to show up at just the right moment, I guess. 

 Still, the thought of backing Baz back against one of those bookcases and kissing him…

 No, can’t think about that right now. Fucking hell. 

 I hurry back to the break room as fast as I can without spilling hot tea all over my hands. (I’m just now realizing that there wasn’t a way for me to pay for these, what with the register shut down and the till already counted. Hopefully Ebb won’t mind if I pay tomorrow.)

 Everyone’s ready to go by the time I get back here. I tell Ebb about the tea. She tells me not to worry about it. (I’m still going to pay for it tomorrow.) Baz and Dev are stood by the lockers, whispering back and forth to each other. It’s pretty aggressive whispering, in my opinion.

 Baz watches me over Dev’s shoulder as I set down our tea and undo my apron. Well, he’s sort of watching. His eyes keep landing on me and flicking away. He looks almost as nervous as he did last night at the cinema, only he can’t leave. We all have to walk out together. 

 I hope he hasn’t changed his mind about our talk. I’m nervous as fuck myself, but I just want it done. I just want it done so we can move _past_ all this. Whatever it is. 

 He shoves Dev when I come over to the lockers to get my stuff, like he’s trying to shut him up. _Good luck with that,_ I think as I bundle up my apron. I try to give Baz a smile the next time he looks at me, try to calm him down, but he only swallows and looks away. 

 I get my things, toss my apron into the laundry hamper, and pull my coat on. Then I grab our teas from the table as everyone else files out of the room. 

 We walk to the time clock together, just like always, and Baz has to put his number in a few times before he gets it right, he’s shaking so bad. I can practically see his shoulders tensing worse beneath his coat with every try. I try not to think about what’s making him so bloody nervous. I know he said it’s not me, but I’m still afraid he’s going to say he doesn’t want this. That he’ll say he _can’t_ again. 

 I trail next to him and Dev on the walk to the carpark. I wait until we’re outside to hand Baz his tea. He takes it without a word, his fingertips gingerly brushing mine as he does. It makes me remember how it felt, to have his fingers between mine. I just want to feel that again. 

 We’re quiet, the three of us. Dev keeps looking over at me like he knows something. Probably he does, I guess. 

 “See you, Simon,” he says when we stop under a streetlamp in the carpark, and I see him squeeze Baz’s shoulder before he heads for his car. Yeah, he definitely knows something, then.

 “See you,” I say back. He waves at me over his shoulder.

 Baz watches Dev go, too, his breath coming out in shaking clouds of mist. 

 “Um,” I say. “Here. Come with me.” I sound so lame, but I figure we might as well sit down for this. I lead him to my truck and pop the tailgate. He watches me with a raised eyebrow as I set my tea down and pull myself up to sit. 

 “What’re you doing, Snow?” he says, his lisp lengthening my name.

 “What, never sat on a tailgate before?” I say.

 “Of course not. What do you call this contraption anyway? It’s barbaric.”

 I roll my eyes at him, but God, I’m happy he’s at least talking to me. “It’s a _pickup truck._ ”

 “What do you think you are, a bloody American?”

 “Right, like I’ve never heard that one before,” I say. Actually I’m pretty sure Micah’s the only person who’s never poked fun at my truck.  Which makes sense, I guess. (I like it, anyway.) “Just c’mere, would you? Here, give me your tea.” I hold out my hand, and Baz huffs a sigh. (He passes his tea to me anyway.) Then he inspects the tailgate like it’s about to attack him.

 “It’s not too much weight?” he says.

 “Nah,” I say, then I pat the spot next to me. “C’mon.” 

 “Yes, fine.” 

 It takes him a moment to figure it out, but eventually he turns, sets his hands against the tailgate, and hops up next to me. (I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to help him up, but probably touching him isn’t the best idea just now, anyway.) 

 I hand him his tea, then grab mine from where it’s set on the edge of the bed. Then I take a sip, bitter and creamy and sweet. It’s perfect, really. (I’ve gotten pretty good at making perfect drinks lately; I’m not modest about it.)

 Baz isn’t drinking his. He’s just staring at the cup in his hands. The light from the streetlamp is illuminating the criss-crossing scars on the backs of his hands, and I wonder where he got them again. I glance at the knuckle of his thumb, and see that it’s red. Swollen, almost. Calloused. It’s the bit he didn’t like me touching last night. 

 “You’ve drawn me another dinosaur,” Baz says. He doesn’t look up at me.

 “‘S tradition,” I say. (I think that makes his lips turn up, but just barely. I almost miss it.) “So,” I say, and I take the risk of bumping his shoulder with mine. He doesn’t flinch, just glances at me. 

 “So?” he repeats.

 “Well. What’d you want to talk about?” 

 He doesn’t say anything.

 “The suspense is killing me, honestly,” I tell him. “And, well. I’m pretty nervous.”

 Baz huffs. It might be a laugh, but just barely. “Well. That makes two of us.” 

 “Baz,” I sigh. “It’s. Well, I _get it_ , yeah? But y’don’t have to be afraid to tell me things—”

 “That’s where you’re wrong, Simon,” he says, and he looks at me. _Really_ looks at me, finally. “You _don’t_ get it.”

 “Then _tell_ me.” I try not to growl. I don’t want to scare him, but _fucking hell._ “Just tell me. Please.” 

 His eyes fall closed, his brow furrowed. I can see his shoulders rise as he breathes in deep. 

 And then his eyes open again, and he swallows, his throat bobbing once, twice. It makes me want to lean over and kiss him there. (I don’t.)

 He bites his lip, then says, "I've got—" Then it stops, like the words’ve gotten caught on their way out. He lets out a sharp, shaky breath. Fuck, I wish I knew how to comfort him. I'd hold his hand, but I don't want him running off again. (I clench my own hand in a fist and set it in my lap instead.) "I've got…"

 "Hey," I say. "It's alright, yeah? Whatever it is—"

 His head turns towards me. His stormy grey eyes are glazed over, and he looks afraid. So afraid. He closes them again. Then opens them. Sighs. Breathes deep. Then the words tumble out of him in a rush.

 "I've got Obsessive Compulsive Disorder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My current predicament (which, let's be honest, has been my predicament since I decided to write a freakin' _slow burn_ ):
> 
>  [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/49050925287/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> (EDIT: lol I did end up writing it as a lil daydream of Simon's. y'all can read that [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364577))
> 
>  
> 
> [(PS here's Baz's decaf PMB 🦖💛💙🦖)](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/187190392622/bazs-pumpkin-mocha-breve-decaf-with-a)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof I knew from the start that this chapter was going to take a lot out of me. As Baz says, “How do you explain the irrational?” I had my work cut out for me, & I hope I’ve done a decent job of it. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my friends [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) for your camaraderie, beta-work, & reminding me that it’s Okay™ not to get it right on the first try. Also for listening to me scream about how I just want these idiots to kiss & like, _do other stuff._
> 
>  **content warnings for this chapter:** blunt descriptions of mental illness, particularly harm-themed OCD (intrusive thoughts of suicide/self-harm) & thoughts about death; general dumbassery

**BAZ**

Simon Salisbury is looking at me, _blinking_ at me. Brow furrowed like I’ve just spoken to him in Arabic instead of English. 

I'm surprised I've not vomited yet.

"What?" he says, and the worst part is he's _earnest._ He has no idea what I've just said.

Fucking hell, but I’ve _said it._ There’s no backing out now. 

I take another deep breath and let it out, watching it turn to mist in front of my face. It’s cold out here, but I’m sweating from nerves anyway. The cup of tea he made me is still warm in my hands. 

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” I say again. Fuck, maybe it’s not the words he can’t understand; maybe it’s hearing them through my lisp. Christ’s sake. 

Simon just screws up his face like he’s thinking too hard about something. 

I raise both eyebrows at him. “OCD.” 

“Oh,” he says as his face settles into something less confused. “But. But isn’t that like, I dunno—”

“No,” I say. I don’t even have to know what he was going to ask. _Isn’t it just wanting to be neat, and being bothered when things aren’t perfect, and colour-coding your closet?_ “No, to whatever you’re thinking. That’s not it.” 

“Well,” Snow says, and he bumps his shoulder into mine just like he did a few minutes ago. “What _is_ it, then?” 

Fuck, I could use a cigarette. 

I take a sip of tea instead, and think about how I could possibly go about explaining this to someone who doesn’t understand. Who doesn’t _live_ with it. Someone who isn’t me. I take another sip of tea while I stall. 

“It’s hard to explain,” I admit. “But one of my therapists said something a long time ago that’s sort of stuck out. _It attacks what’s most important to you._ That’s what it is. That’s what it does. And there’s no running from it, no matter how bad it gets—”

“Yeah, but…” Snow’s brow is knitted together again. “But you did. Sort of. Last night.” The light from the streetlamp betrays the blush colouring his cheeks. Or maybe that’s just the cold. 

I breathe deep again, to make sure I don’t snap at him. “Sometimes, in the moment, it gets the better of me. But, well.” I look from my hands around my cup to his hands around his, and then to his thigh. It’s nearly touching mine. I can almost feel the heat radiating off him, and it’s work not to lean against him, to close that last bit of distance. 

I can’t. Not _yet._

“It's like…” I start again. “It’s like you want to get away, but you can't. You can't _run_ from your own mind. But sometimes you still feel like you have to try.” I breathe in. Out. “But just because I left last night doesn’t mean it just went away once I’d gone.”

“But _what_?” he says, and I can feel him looking at me. I keep staring at the crease in his trouser leg, at his hands. Anywhere but at his face. “What is it you’re trying to get away from? Anxiety?”

I can feel the walls building inside me, ready to deflect. I breathe deep and then rip them back down. “Yes and no,” I say. “Thoughts, moreso. Thoughts that _cause_ anxiety.” 

His thigh shifts, almost touches mine. Almost like he _wants_ it to touch mine. “What sorts of thoughts?” he says.

This is it. The part I’ve been dreading. But there’s no turning back now, no running away. I have to find a _way._

I’ve wondered, these last weeks, if this would be easier to tell him if it were _just_ anxiety I was dealing with. If it were _just_ anxiety, maybe things would make more sense. But, well. I’m disturbed. There’s no getting around it. The sorts of things that pass through my mind (and get stuck there) are downright disturbing, sometimes, and even though I know it isn’t _me_ thinking them, how do you explain that to someone without it sounding like you’re cracked? 

Maybe I _am_ just that. _Cracked._

Best start simple, I suppose.

“Do you know what an intrusive thought is, Snow?” I ask. He’s slumped over a bit, and I keep my eyes trained on his forearms resting on his thighs. I’ve the fleeting thought that it’s a pity he’s wearing a coat.

“Don’t think so.”

Oh, _marvelous._ He doesn’t even know what an intrusive thought _is._

I take a breath. Let it out. Look back to my own hands around my cup. “Have you ever had a weird thought, and you don’t really know where it came from, but it’s terrifying and you don’t understand why you’re thinking it?” 

“Um. I dunno.” I feel him shuffle next to me, out of his slump. (I think he’s started worrying at the back of his neck with his hand.) “I don’t think. Just. Well, I guess I can turn my thoughts off sometimes, y’know?”

I look at him— _finally_ —and raise an eyebrow. The absurdity of it all pushes a scoff out of me. “No, Snow. I most definitely don’t.”

Christ, this is going to be harder than I thought. 

I sigh. “The thing with OCD is. Well.” All I fucking want to do is stick my fingers in my mouth right now, so I tighten them around my cup instead. “The thing is that it’s _there_ , and you can’t reason it away. It’s—” I feel like there should be some sort of metaphor here—how the fuck isn’t there a metaphor? “It’s this weird parasitic thing and the more attention you give it, the bigger it gets.”

Fuck, I’m probably just confusing him more. 

“So, like…” Snow starts. “You get a weird thought, and—?” It takes a few moments for me to realize he’s not going to finish his sentence, that _I_ have to. 

“Yes. In the beginning, at least. It starts with a weird thought. And then you worry on it. And the more you worry on it, the worse it gets. There’ve been times in my life, when—” My hands are still shaking, even though I’m not so terrified anymore. Aftershock. A remnant of every single thing I’ve been afraid of the last few days. Fuck, the last few _years,_ even. 

I set my cup down on the lip of the truck bed before I spill it, then plant my hands on either side of me and hold on. _Breathe._ Try to ground myself. 

When I look at Simon, he’s waiting. _Listening._ Very pointedly not drinking his tea. I rip my eyes away from his mouth before he has the chance to catch me looking. And then I press on, because I _have_ to. Because he needs to understand.

“Fuck, Simon,” I start. I have to look away when I say his name. “There’ve been times in my life where I’d go months and months and _months_ just being trapped inside my own mind. No way out, and no end in sight. It’s not. Fuck, it’s _not_ what people think it is. It’s not being tidy, or being bothered by some stupid shit that’s off-kilter and then moving on with your life. If you’ve really got it—if you _truly_ have OCD—you can’t just _move on._ It doesn’t work that way.” The bed of the truck is pebbled but smooth beneath my palms, and I press my shaking fingers down into it. I wait. 

And Snow says, “That’s why you were put off earlier, when I was helping you.” 

“Yes, well. I didn’t think you noticed, honestly.” 

“Fucking hell,” Snow huffs. “It’s hard for me _not_ to notice things about you. Thought I’d made that pretty clear.” 

He sets his tea aside, too, then shifts towards me, just slightly. Just enough for me to notice. Then he sets his hands down on the truck bed, too, and his left hand is so close to my right that I can practically feel it there, feel the warmth of him, the infinitesimal space between us pulsing with our energies. It makes me swallow, and when I glance at his neck, I see his throat bobbing, too. Once. Twice. _Slow._ It’s the showiest fucking swallow I’ve ever seen, though I suppose I’m usually not so fixated on such things. It’s hard for me not to notice things about him, too, it would seem.

“So, like,” he starts, and it jolts me back to reality. Back to the chill of a cold December night under a streetlamp in a carpark. With him. With _him_ , because he’s still here. He’s choosing to stay.

_He’s choosing to stay._

“What sorts of things d’you think about, then?” he asks.

I know that I can never explain this in a way he’ll completely understand. You _can’t_ understand, not unless you’ve got it. But he’s willing to listen, and I can do my damnedest. 

“Well. What you have to understand is that there are different kinds of OCD,” I say. “Or, well. The things we fixate on. The feelings are the same, the anxiety’s the same. But—”

“It attacks what’s most important to you, yeah?” 

I look at him, then, the _wonder_ that is Simon Salisbury, because he’s listening to me. He’s _hearing_ me. Because the light from the streetlamp is catching in the bronze of his curls, and the effect is more dazzling than it has any right to be. It’s almost hard to look at him. 

I swallow again, then look away. “Yeah.”

“So,” he says, and he knocks my shoulder with his. (It makes me jump.) “What’s most important to you? I mean, y’don’t have to answer that. If y’don’t want.”

 _My fault,_ I think, and I breathe into it, _lean_ into it as it fades away. “I’ve had…” I don’t know how to explain. How do you explain the irrational, and how do you explain that sometimes you let yourself _believe_ the irrational, just because it feels so bloody real you can _taste_ it? “Well,” I start again, and I press my fingers down into the truck bed, let my thumbs scrape along the surface. I can feel the raggedness of my callouses catching on the pebbled plastic. “I’ve had _this_ for as long as I can remember. It used to be little things. But, well. After my mother died…”

I feel Simon’s little finger brush against mine, and when I glance at him, he’s smiling bashfully at me. _He wants to hold your hand,_ I think, but it surprises me anyway, when he sets his hand gently on top of mine. His palm is warm despite the cold, and I let him lace our fingers together. I wonder if he can feel how fast my heart is beating. It’s a wonder he can’t _hear_ it. 

He strokes my index finger with his thumb and squeezes. “S’alright,” he says, softly. “Go on.”

I swallow the lump that’s risen in my throat—and my heartbeat, for good measure—and keep on. "Well. When she died, it.” I swallow again. “It got worse. They say trauma can do that. And, well.” I stare at our hands, joined together between us, resting against the bed of Snow’s truck. He’s got near as many freckles as I have scars. “I thought. I _think._ ” Fucking _fuck._

“Hey,” Simon says, and he squeezes my hand again. “Take your time, yeah?” 

I work my jaw from side to side and let my eyes fall closed. _Light a match._

I open my eyes and breathe. “I started to think...that it was _my_ fault. That she died.” I stare at one of the fasteners on his duffle coat to avoid looking at his face. 

“How could that be your fault?” I can practically hear his furrowed brow. 

“It _wasn’t,_ ” I say, and I _believe_ it. Of course I do. “But it doesn’t matter. That’s.” I glance at our hands, then to our thighs. (His knee is threatening to nudge mine.) Finally I just look out ahead of me, out at the empty carpark. “Well, it’s not how it _works._ I _know_ it wasn’t my fault. But I also _know_ it was.” 

Simon shifts, and his knee _does_ nudge mine, and fuck, but he’s _warm._ “That doesn’t make sense, though?” he says, and I think that’s the understatement of the entire bloody history of time. 

“OCD doesn’t _make sense,_ Snow,” I say. “It just _is._ It’s not logical, and you can’t talk yourself out of it. You can’t _reason_ with it. The more I’d tell myself it wasn’t my fault, the more I’d think it _was._ Reason _feeds_ it. Stokes the flame.”

“Hm.” Simon’s brow is furrowed, when I sneak a glance at him (as expected). (I don’t think he notices, and I glance away again.) “I guess. I mean, I understand what you’re saying, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” I agree. “No, you’re right. It makes no bloody sense at all.”  

We’re silent for a few moments, just two boys sat on a tailgate in the middle of an empty carpark, holding hands. 

Then Simon tugs my hand inward until my knuckles brush the outside of his thigh. “Can I ask you something?” he says, the steam of his breath wafting in my direction. “About your mum.” 

My heart jumps, but I look at him anyway. “Alright.”

“How’d she.” He pauses, like he’s trying to find the proper words. Then he squeezes my hand and says, “How’d it happen?”

_How’d it happen?_

I can practically feel the bile rising in my throat, the _hate._ All the pain of the last eight years is sitting somewhere behind my molars, and I find for once—for _once_ —that I just need to let it go. To tell someone. To tell _Simon._

“She was taking me to school,” I say. I stare down at my oxfords because I can’t bring myself to look at him. It’s almost _too much,_ having him touch me. I can’t look at him and touch him, too. “A drunk driver hit us, and the last thing she did was make sure he wouldn’t hit _me._ So she swerved. Got the brunt of it.” My breath is shaking, and I’m angry. _So_ angry. I can feel it boiling hot inside me, setting my teeth on edge, making my chin quiver. _Don’t cry._ “It was stupid,” I say through my teeth. “A stupid fucking way for her to die. It never should’ve happened.” My grip on his hand is firm enough to feel his heart pounding in his fingers. I’ve brought my other hand to clench in a fist on top of my thigh at some point; I’m not sure when, and what’s left of my fingernails is digging into my palm. “I was ten,” I add, because I don’t know how to finish. I don’t know how to end the story of my mother’s death, the story of _her_ ending, when the book of her life was only one-third written, if that. The story of how a stranger ruined my life. Or changed the course of it, rather. That’s what my therapists would say.  

I wait for the pity. I don’t fucking _want_ pity—I never do—but I wait for it anyway.

It doesn’t come.

Simon squeezes my hand again and moves his thumb along my glass scars. The glass from the shattered windows. “What was she like?” he asks, and I can barely believe he’s real.

I can feel the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I blink them back. “Strong,” I say. “The strongest person I’ve ever known. And smart. Kind.” 

“So she was like you, then,” Simon says. 

I look at him and raise an eyebrow. 

“What?” he says, our hands lifting with the shrug of his shoulders, just slightly. “S’true.” 

I roll my eyes and look away, because I don’t know how else to respond. How could I? “Whatever you say, Snow.”

Snow huffs. “One of these days you’ll believe the things I say." 

“I find that unlikely,” I say, and he huffs again. I almost let myself smile. 

He nudges my shoulder with his. “Can I ask something else?” 

“Why not? You will anyway.” 

“It’s just. I don’t understand what all this has to do with dating me. Not that I’m trying to make it about me, but.”

There’s something rising inside me, something bright. Something like... _hope._ I don’t want to give myself over to it, not yet. We’ve barely scratched the surface, really, the tip of the iceberg of the disastrous inner workings of my mind. There’s more yet that might scare him away, and with good _reason,_ so I tamp down that feeling and steel myself.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with dating _you,_ ” I tell him. “It has to do with dating _me._ I’m. Well, I’m alright, these days, for the most part. But there’s no guarantee I’ll _always_ be alright.” The chances are nil, really, but I don’t want to seem too dramatic. 

“So, what?” Snow says, hassling his curls with his free hand. “You think I can’t handle it, or—?”

I almost say _yes._ I almost say _yes,_ because even _I_ can’t bloody handle it sometimes, but I don’t have a choice. He does. He has a choice, and he should get to choose. 

“ _No._ ” I say. “It’s that you shouldn’t _have_ to.”

“Well maybe I _want_ to, yeah?” 

_He should get to choose._

“Snow.” I huff and run my free hand through my hair. A few strands get caught in my fingers and I drop them to the ground, watch them float away from me. “ _Why_ would you want to deal with _that_?”

“It’s you who has to deal with it, though, innit? And like, I don’t want _you_ to have to, either, but. Well, it’d be better, if you didn’t have to do it alone. Wouldn’t it? I want to help.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because we’re _friends._ We’re.” He lifts our joined hands, just a bit, and sets them back down again. “Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?”

_He should get to choose._

“Simon,” I sigh, cross my ankles, uncross them again. “The sorts of things I think, they’re.” _Breathe._ I wonder if he can feel my hand shaking in his. “Well, they’re _violent,_ sometimes. When things get bad.”

Simon’s a good listener, almost _too_ good. I keep thinking he’s going to say something only to find it’s me who has to fill the silence.

I sigh again and look down at my shoes. “The worst of it was a few years back. I kept thinking—sometimes I _still_ think—about death. About—” And how much do I tell him _now_? _Light a match,_ I think, even as I feel like my tea’s about to come back up. “I don’t remember how it started—I can almost _never_ remember how it starts, the thinking—but I started thinking about death one day. What happens, afterwards. And that it’s _nothing._ I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. I’d wake up every day thinking about everything and _nothing,_ and go to sleep that way. I was so afraid to die, but I couldn’t figure out what the _point_ of my life _was_ , and my brain kept telling me _nothing,_ and that there _wasn’t._ And I was afraid that—”

Simon’s holding my hand in both of his, now, and he’s so _warm_. _He’s_ not nothing. He’s so _alive._

And so am I. 

I run the fingers of my free hand over the callous on my thumb as I think about pushing away the darkness, the _emptiness._ The fear. “I started thinking that I’d hurt myself, if I was left alone,” I admit, and with that I’ve brought Simon into the small circle of people who _know._ All the people who care about me, against all odds. “I didn’t _want_ to, but I kept _thinking_ about it, and I didn’t think I could trust myself. I was _afraid_ of myself.” 

 _And that was the worst of all,_ I think. _That’s what’s at the very core of this monster inside of me, not being able to trust myself._

Simon’s voice cuts through the cold, right through my thoughts. “But you didn’t want to.” It’s not a question.

“No,” I say, shaking my head at my thighs. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, just how far I’ve come. “No, I didn’t want to. But I’d make myself sick thinking about it. I’d help my stepmother with dinner and get the urge to run myself through with the knife.”

“Didn’t know you had a stepmother.”  

I can’t help the laugh that comes out of me. Leave it to Snow to pick out the most mundane detail from the macabre. “You’re an idiot, Snow,” I say, and when I look at him, his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth. 

He rolls his eyes and moves his thumb along the back of my hand. (It feels better than it has any right to.) “A fit one, though. Said so yourself.” 

“Will you _ever_ let me live that down?”

“Nah.” He traces the scars on the back of my hand with his fingers, and it feels _good_ —so good—to have our palms resting against each other, to have his fingertips ghosting along my skin. To have Simon Salisbury's warm hands surrounding one of mine.

I don't have a retort for him, not right now. I just watch him, the way he plays with my hand, my fingers. He's delicate, and I suppose I wasn't expecting that. Our breaths mist and mingle between us and I can feel my heartbeat starting to thunder in my chest, my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it doesn't work. (I reach for my tea and take a sip of that instead.) (It's gone lukewarm.)

"Baz?" he says, and his fingers still.

"Yeah."

"You're not pointless. Like. You know that, right?"

I nod, not saying anything. Not _yet._ Because he’s _right,_ and he’s the one who’s telling me, and if I try to say something right now I might cry. 

I drink more of my tea, watch my breath rising, glance down between us and watch Simon Salisbury trace the lines on my hand.

“I’ve not thought that for a long time, Simon,” I say, finally. “And if I do, well. I know how to deal with it, now.”

“How d’you, like...do that?” 

“That’s the hardest part,” I tell him, setting down my tea again. “Because you can’t reason with it. And even though you _shouldn’t_ be reasoning with it, and you _know_ you shouldn’t, you try anyway. And then you get caught in an endless loop of trying to tell yourself the truth, and doubting everything, and there's no way to be one hundred percent certain. It hates grey area, besides, and no matter how many times you tell yourself your thoughts aren’t real, the more you think they _are._ It’s.” I laugh then, because this sounds completely ridiculous. “It’s _bizarre,_ really, now I think on it. Sounds completely mad. But that’s just how it is.” I laugh again, and when I look at Simon, his lips are quirked in a smile, his eyes soft. “I’ve no idea where I’m going with this,” I say.

I can feel the warm huff of his laugh, we’re sat so close. “Me neither,” he says.

“I suppose it's almost like it's not even _me_ thinking them,” I start. “The thoughts.” 

Simon’s brow furrows again. “What, like hearing voices?”

“Not...exactly. I'm not psychotic, Snow. I _know_ the thoughts are mine, but they're unbidden. I don't think them on _purpose._ They just come. And then I fight them, until I realize what I'm doing. That's the compulsive part, fighting it. Some people wash their hands to bleeding. Some people check things, and check them again, and again. I try to reason with myself. That's my compulsion. Almost completely mental—you can't tell by looking at me, not really. It's like I said, it can't be reasoned with. The only way to stop thinking is to accept it, no matter how bad it is.”

“So, like…”

“So I have to let the thought in, without arguing with it. Without trying to reason my way out. I have to _agree._ ”

“But—”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. But that’s just how it is. I have to accept it, and feel the anxiety, and then it goes. Until the next time. Then it starts all over again.”

Simon’s biting the inside of his mouth and looking like he’s thinking something over. I’m not sure whether I’ve lost him or if he’s just trying to catch up, to make sense of it all. To make sense of the nonsensical. (I let myself stare at his lips while he thinks it over, in any case.)

“So it’s better, now?” he says, finally, and I flit my eyes to his before he can catch me thinking about kissing the mole near his Cupid’s bow. “I mean. I know something happened last night. But y’said it used to be all day…”

I nod. “All day, yes. I’d be anxious every day, all day, running in circles inside my mind, trying to reason with myself. And I’d be so _tired,_ and there just wasn’t room for anything else.” Fuck, I’m tired just _thinking_ about it. “I lost,” I say. “Well, I lost _me._ ”

Simon’s thumb strokes my knuckles as he nods, too. I’ve no idea if he understands, truly, but he’s not giving any indication that he doesn’t. His blue eyes meet mine, and he looks tired. The sort of tired brought on from a long day of work, and perhaps the sort that comes on when you’ve listened to someone talk about how very tired their mind has made them over the years. “But it’s better, now?” he asks again. He makes it sound so _simple._

“For the most part. I’ve had therapy. I know what I have to do, to not let it consume me. It’s hard, sometimes. Like last night. But I get through it. And…” And I take two little pills, every night. Fuck, _light a fucking match._ “Well. I take medication, too,” I say, and he doesn’t pull away. He’s just looking at me like he wants me to carry on. I do. “It doesn’t take it all away. But it makes it easier to deal with.” That’s when I realize I’m bloody well _shivering._ “Christ, it’s cold out.” And here I am, resorting to talking about the weather. Wonderful. 

Simon’s eyes light up. “D’you want my coat?”

I think on that, of taking his coat and enveloping myself in the warmth of him. It’s sorely, _sorely_ tempting, but then I glance at my watch and find that it’s also after one in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I was out so late. 

“That’s alright,” I say. “It’s late, anyway. Should be getting home…”

Simon’s face falls. He doesn’t even try to hide it. “Oh. Right.” He glances down between us, at our hands. (I know because I’m glancing at _him_.) “So. Y’said you like peace and quiet on a Friday night.”

Oh. Oh fucking _Christ,_ is he about to ask me out _again_? 

I suppose I should’ve seen this coming, but it’s still a shock. It still sets my heart to beating faster, faster, _faster._

_Fuck._

“Any night, really,” I say. “I’m not fun to be around.” Jesus Christ, am I _trying_ to put him off me? Maybe so. _Probably_ so, because keeping him at arm’s length now would be easier than losing him later. 

“Why d’you say that?”

Bloody fucking _fuck, light a match._

“I can’t drink, for starters,” I tell him, mentally cursing my traitorous fucking tongue as it slurs my words. “And I don’t like being ‘round people who do.”

“The party?”

“The party.” 

“Hm.” Simon shrugs, his shoulder brushing up against mine as he does. “Doesn’t really make a difference to me. S’not like my hobby’s wine tasting or anything.” 

“Simon—”

“ _Baz._ ” He squeezes my hand. “Look, are you done making excuses?”

“Excuses?”

“Yeah. I mean, that’s what you’ve been doing, innit?”

I think, _Yes._

I say, “What?” 

“You thought this would change my mind. Telling me about your stuff.”

“My _stuff_?” 

“Yeah, your stuff. Your brain stuff. You were afraid to tell me.” 

“Yes—”

“Well, I’ve not changed my mind.”

“About?”

“Fucking hell, you’re _difficult_ , sometimes.” He growls and runs his free hand through his hair. No, not runs. Bloody well _scrapes._ “What I’m saying is—I’d like to take you out. Like. A date. All of this—what you told me—it doesn’t change that. So.” 

It doesn’t change that. 

_It doesn’t change that._

“Right,” I say, because I’ve no idea _what_ to say. “Right. Yes.” I draw my hand from his and get up under the pretense of parting ways (it _is_ after 1:30 in the morning at this point). I can still feel his warmth in my palm.

Simon hops down from his tailgate and squares himself in front of me. (It almost makes me flinch.) “I’m glad you told me. All this.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, then takes them back out. Rubs the back of his neck with one, drops it. “Um—”

“It’s late,” I say. Goddamn it _, why?_ Why do I feel like running _again_? And why isn’t he _bothered_ by all of this? Why the fuck is Simon Salisbury so infuriatingly handsome? Who signed off on that? 

“Hey,” he says, softly. “I’m nervous, too, yeah? It’s. We can be nervous together.” He takes one tentative step towards me, and I hold my ground.

“Alright,” I say.

“And. Look, I’m _shit_ with words, okay? But I need you to know I want this. And I need to know if _you_ want it. So. Do you?”

I feel like I might be sick, and my heart is hammering in my throat, but I nod my head anyway. Because I do. I want this. I want _him._

He smiles like the sun, the light from the streetlamp gleaming off his teeth. “Would it. I mean.” His smile drops as he huffs and rubs the back of his neck again. “Fucking hell, can I hug you?” 

“Pardon?” I say, my voice cracking like I’ve regressed to puberty. Jesus _Christ,_ I sound like I don’t know what a hug _is._

“S’just.” He bites his lip and musses his curls. Some are standing on end when he pulls his hand away. It’s more adorable than it has any right to be. “Fuck, this is well embarrassing. I just. I wanna _touch_ you, yeah? I mean. Christ, that sounded wrong—”

I take a step towards him, and he swallows. 

“Right,” he says, and then his hands are on me, pulling me in, and _fuck,_ I’ve never felt anything so good in my life. 

He’s shorter than me, and sturdy, and the heat of him’s enough to make me dizzy. He’s pressing close, but not _too_ close, and thank fuck for that. I don’t know that I could handle it, if he pulled our hips flush. I try to push that thought from my mind as I wrap my arms around him, press my hands tentatively into his back. (I can’t feel him very well under the weight of his duffle coat, but that’s probably a good thing for now.) He smells like sweat and syrup and something earthy. It has my breath catching. 

A few of his curls brush against the side of my face. “Are you going to let me take you on that date, now?” he breathes in my ear. It’s hot, and humid, and it makes me want to turn my head and catch his mouth with mine. It also makes me want to pull away, but I don’t. I _don’t._ I lean into it, into _him._

I’m shivering, but not from the cold. I think that he can probably feel the thumping of my heart through all the layers between us, and that only makes it thump faster. It’s working hard to pump all my blood to my face, my ears, the back of my neck.

“Yeah,” I say. It’s clipped and quick and quiet, but it’s the best I can manage right now. 

Simon squeezes me tighter and then steps away, just like that. He’s wearing a crooked grin and a flush across his cheeks. He starts rubbing his neck again. “Right, yeah,” he says. He almost sounds like he can’t actually believe it. “Um. Yeah. We’ll. Well, we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” I say again. I don’t _trust_ myself to say anything else right now, and I’ve no idea what to say, besides.  

Simon’s eyes flit down to my lips, but only for a moment. Then he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and looks back at me. “G’night, then,” he says. “I’ll text you when I’m home, yeah? Unless you’re too tired. Kind of knackered myself, actually.” 

My eyes are threatening to close soon, and my body’s in the process of coming down from an adrenaline high. I’ll be lucky if I can stay awake long enough to change into my pyjamas. “ _Knackered_ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I say.  

I reach for my cup of tea and shove my free hand into my coat pocket, clench it in a fist. Simon takes that as his cue to close the tailgate. “Well,” I start. I’m still not rightly sure what to say, not sure how to move on from _I find myself a relatively reasonable and intelligent person, but also I have an inexplicable mental illness that makes me believe completely nonsensical things. Also I’d still like to date you, and also I think you might be slightly cracked for still wanting to date_ me _. But I can overlook that. And also you’ve just hugged me and it took all the willpower in the bloody universe to keep myself from getting hard. Also I’d like you to do it again. Frequently._

Right, this is why I’ve never entertained the possibility of dating someone until now. 

“Drive safe, yeah?” Simon says. 

“Yes. You as well, Snow.” 

And then we’re just stood across from each other, neither of us saying anything, our breath misting in the air between us. 

“Right,” he says, finally, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “G’night, then.” 

“Goodnight, Snow.” Then I turn on my heel and make my way towards the Jag. 

It’s a bit of a surprise, really, when I look over my shoulder and see Simon watching me with a broad, crooked grin on his face. He pulls one hand out of his pocket and waves at me.

I hold up a hand, too, my face burning. And then I get in the car.

 

 **SIMON**  

I think about Baz the whole way home.

Well. I basically _always_ think about Baz the whole way home, but it’s different, this time. 

I can still feel the warmth of him pressed against me.

I wasn’t sure he’d _let_ me. Hug him, I mean. But I _had_ to. I had to. He smelled so fucking good, and all I wanted was to push a hand up into his hair and turn my face into his neck and _breathe_. (I didn’t, because I didn’t want to freak him out.) (Probably that would’ve freaked him out.) 

I thought it might be weird, hugging someone taller than me. Not that he’s much taller, but he’s got at least three extra inches on me, and that’s a lot of extra inches on the people I’m used to hugging. 

It wasn’t weird at all.

It was _good_ , even though I was nervous as all fuck. But Baz was nervous, too, and he did it anyway. _He did it anyway_ , and the feel of his hands on my back, even over all my clothes was…

Fuck, it was everything. 

I know this is hard for him. I know that _now_. 

I can’t believe he thought I wouldn’t want this, just because of…that. 

I can’t say I understand it, everything he told me. But I don’t think he’s mental. (I think he was afraid I’d think he’s mental.) I’ll have to have a proper Google search about it later, this OCD thing, because I meant it, when I said I wanted to help. And even if he doesn’t want my help, well. At least it’ll help _me_ understand. Because I _need_ to understand, if we’re going to be together. If he’ll let me have this. If he’ll let me have _him._  

Fucking hell, _I want him,_ more than I’ve ever wanted anything, really. It feels like there’s something inside me pulling me towards him. Pulling us together. It’s exciting and painful all at the same time, and I don’t think I ever want it to stop.

I’m going to have to figure out what we’re going to do on our date. 

Oh, fucking hell, _I have to figure out what we’re going to do on our date._  

Well, I’ve got some time, anyway, to figure it out. Next week’s schedule came out today, so I’ll have a look tomorrow and see when we’re both off. _If_ we’re both off. I’ve only got one free day next week; the holiday crowd’s fixing to swallow us whole, I think. 

I wonder if Mum knows anything. About OCD, I mean. I guess she probably deals with more physical stuff than mental in the A&E, but it’s probably worth it to ask. Then again I didn’t have a fucking clue about any of the things he told me, and I feel like a right tosser for saying what I did about Nico being OCD about his books. Jesus Christ.

I don’t know if I should tell Mum. Baz trusted me enough to tell me, and I don’t really want to blow that by telling someone else, even if it _is_ just my mum. (She wouldn’t care, I know she wouldn’t.)

I won’t. I won’t tell her. Or Penelope.

I’ll just Google it, and ask Baz if I need to. 

_Baz._

I think I almost kissed him. Again. That’s like, at least twice I’ve had to stop myself from kissing him, just tonight.

I don’t know how I’ll be able to hold off, on our date. (Not that I _want_ to hold off, but I don’t want to move too fast for him. I don’t want him running off again.) Probably I’ll have to take him to dinner, just so I have something else to do with my mouth. 

I’m glad he let me hold his hand again.

I wasn’t sure he would, if I’m honest.

I think he liked it this time. Well, not like he _didn’t,_ the first time; he told me he liked that, too. But at least this time he stuck around, and his hand didn’t sweat, and I don’t think his heart was beating as fast as it was because he was afraid. Not like last night.  

I’m too bloody tired for a shower when I get home, and I already had one earlier today, anyway. I change into my pyjamas and rinse the stickiness from my face instead, then I crawl into bed with the lights off and swipe my mobile open.

Bloody hell, it’s already after two in the morning.

I think about going to Google and searching for stuff about OCD, but I can barely keep my eyes open right now, so I open up my texts with Baz instead. 

There’s nothing new from him, nothing since he sent me that message about needing to talk. Fuck, I’m glad we did. Talk, I mean. Everything just, I don’t know...makes so much more _sense_ now. Sort of. I guess the OCD bit itself doesn’t make much sense at all, but the reasons for Baz being so distant…

It’s not had anything to do with me at all. 

Fuck, some of the things he said. I wanted to tell him how wrong he was. I wanted to tell him he was breaking my heart, talking that way. He has to know he’s _good._

I think I’ll have plenty of time to tell him so. For now, I type out a couple of words and hit send. 

 **Simon (2:04 am):** night baz

I’m falling asleep with my mobile in my hand when I feel it vibrate. My eyelids feel like they’re made of lead when I try to open them, but I do. I do because Baz is there, on the other side of the screen. And he’s…

He’s said…

  
**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(2:06 am):** Goodnight, Snow.

 

 **BAZ**  

 **Imbecilic Relation (12:24 am):** u better fuckin be telling him rn istg

 **Imbecilic Relation (12:46 am):** howd it go

 **Imbecilic Relation (12:54 am):** howd it go

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:03 am):** howd it go

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:17 am):** u even still alive

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:19 am):** OMFG R U BANGING IT OUT?!

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:20 am):** im so fucking proud omfg

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:20 am):** my lil babys all grown up

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:20 am):** **😭😭😭**

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:41 am):** ok look idk what ur staminas like but i’m 99% sure the 1st time shouldnt take this lpng

 **Baz (1:49 am):** For fuck’s sake, you miscreant.

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:50 am):** DID U TeLLL

 **Baz (1:50 am):** Yes.

 **Imbecilic Relation (1:50 am):** AND

 **Baz (1:50 am):** And he still wants to date me for some indecipherable reason.

**Imbecilic Relation (1:51 am):**

[ ](https://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/gayscream_zpsydishbqq.png.html)

**Imbecilic Relation (1:51 am):** wait but did you fuck tho

 **Baz (1:51 am):** NO. 

 

* * *

 

“ _Why_?” It’s all I can think to say to what Niall’s just told us. 

 _Emergency fish and chips. Can you make it before work?_ That’s the text that came in from Dev—albeit with more typos—as I was rehashing last night’s events to Fiona. I ended up having to tell her about the disaster at the cinema the other night as well, which I’d been hoping to avoid. She does tend to worry about me when it comes to my state of mind. 

“ _Jesus Christ, Baz, and you didn’t think to call?”_ she said.

“ _That is precisely why I didn’t. It’s_ fine. _I’m fine._ ”

But then Dev interrupted us and all that registered at first was _emergency_ and I very nearly started catastrophizing right in the middle of the sitting room as I read the rest of the text. _Fish and chips._

 _Emergency?_ I texted back.

_Fuck, nothing major. Nobody’s died. Will you come?_

_Watch your fucking word choice,_ I said, and then I was on my way. 

And now I’m sat here across from Dev and Niall, waiting for my lunch and listening to Niall tell us how he’s broken things off with the girl he pined after for months. (Which I don’t think bodes well at all for my own burgeoning relationship, but I keep that to myself.)

Niall runs a hand through his auburn hair and sighs. “Look,” he starts, “I would’ve told you sooner, but—”

“ _Sooner?_ When did this happen?” I can still see them—him and Philippa—together at the cinema, holding hands. Smiling. Everything _seemed_ just fine, or maybe I was just too bloody preoccupied to realize anything was amiss. 

“It happened the other night. When. Well, she didn’t understand why I had to go, exactly. Threw a bit of a snit about it.” He shakes his head and glances down at the table before looking back at me. “Bottom line is that I won’t be with someone who doesn’t understand why I need to be there for a friend who needs me. And that’s what I told her, too. And before you start feeling bad about it, let me just tell you it’s not your fault. So don’t go there.” 

I run my tongue over my teeth and sit back in the booth, try to swallow the shame. _Not my fault._ How could it _not_ be, when they’d still be together if not for me?

“Baz,” Niall says, like a bloody mind reader. “I told you. _Don’t._ Something else would’ve happened eventually, anyway. Better to know now than months down the line.”

“Well,” Dev says, and he throws an arm around Niall’s shoulders. “Always knew she wasn’t good enough for you. Didn’t say so, you know. Since you fancied her and all.” _That_ doesn’t sound quite right at all, not when I look back on his enthusiasm to get the two of them together, so I file it away for later. “But it’s for the best, just like you said. Better to know now than later. Innit?” Dev looks to me and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“You’re an idiot,” I tell him, then I look to Niall. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t _sound_ too put out about it, really, but he never sounds put out about anything. It’s in the slump of his shoulders, the tired look in his eyes, the downward tilt of his lips. They quirk up in a feeble smile, now. “But what about you?” he asks, because he’s a selfless prat. “Heard you talked to Simon about what happened.”

“Did you?” I shoot Dev a look. He just shrugs at me. “Niall—” 

He holds up a hand. “Really, mate. I want to hear about it.”

“It’s not terribly exciting,” I say—which isn’t completely true, when I remember the warmth of his hands, the heat of his arms around me, _fuck_ —but I summarize my talk with Snow anyway. How I told him everything, how he _listened._ Our food comes just as I’m getting to the bit where Simon asked me on a date. (Again, and more successfully.) (I keep the hug to myself.)

“Took them bloody long enough to talk,” Dev interjects when I take a moment to start eating. I don’t say anything, just roll my eyes and keep chewing my fish.

Dev seems to think it’s appropriate to multi-task, however. “Got my hopes up,” he says, mouth full of half-chewed potato. “Thought they’d fucked.”

Niall snorts with a chip halfway to his mouth. 

I swallow. “I don’t know where you think this could have transpired,” I say as I reach for the vinegar. “The Nico’s carpark?” 

Dev shrugs as if that’s a perfectly logical place to have sex. “Tricky,” he says, swallowing, “but doable.”

Niall glances at him. “You’ve shagged in a carpark?”

“Not _any_ carpark. The _Nico’s_ carpark. And it was in _my_ car, if you need to know details. Perfectly respectable—”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. 

“Besides,” Dev continues, “he’s got that pickup truck, doesn’t he? Probably enough room in the back for you both to have a lie-down. And, like, a blowie.” 

“Dev—”

He waves a hand at me. “ _Fine._ Could jerk each other off, then, if you want to start slow—”

“For fuck’s _sake_ —” 

He tilts his head at me. “You’re really not going to be very forthcoming with details, are you? You know. When you _do_ finally get—”

“ _No._ And I fail to see how my hypothetical sex life could be of interest to you.”

“Because you’re my cousin and my mate and I’m invested in your well-being. And in the well-being of your dick.” 

“You’re _demented,_ is what you are.”

He tilts his head, shrugs. “Hm. Maybe.” 

We spend the remainder of our lunch talking over rather mundane things—classes we’ve enrolled in for next term, football, visiting home for Christmas—my mind vacillating between pleasant thoughts of Simon and the way he held me to growing unease about our upcoming date. Not the date itself, exactly, but the fact that it’s _happening,_ that soon we’ll set a day, and a time, and I’ll be alone with Simon without the pretense of work and unsurrounded by our friends. It’s thrilling and completely terrifying all at once. 

I only have to tell Dev off once for raising the subject of my as-yet non-existent sex life (again). (“Excuse me, can you please refrain from talking about my bits in public, you dim-witted twit? _”_ ) Niall supports me by shoving his elbow into Dev’s ribs, and by reminding me that my worries about Simon were unfounded. He tells me he’s happy for me, and he _means_ it. Of course he does. 

It’s good to see the smile on Niall’s face, in any case. I don’t think I’d be able to, if it were me who’d ended a relationship, ended things with _Simon_. I don’t know how Niall feels, not exactly, but I can imagine well enough. 

Dev is long finished with his food—a mercy to us all, to be spared his barbarism—and I’m nearly done with mine when Niall sets down his napkin and checks the time on his mobile. “Fuck, lads, I need to go or I’ll be late for work.” He digs an elbow into Dev’s side again. “Let me out, will you?”

Dev sighs as if it’s work to stand—“Why do you want to leave me?”—and makes a show of getting to his feet. Niall gets up and makes to take our baskets and trash along with his.

I hold up a hand, “We’ll get it. Go on.”

He shoots me a quick smile, then Dev. “Cheers. Talk later.” And then he’s gone.

“Chin up, darling!” Dev calls after him as he sits back down. “Plenty more fish in the sea and all that.” 

I wait until the door has shut behind Niall to say, “Excuse me, _I always knew she wasn’t good enough for you_? What happened to _our solemn duty_ —?”

Dev works his jaw quickly from side to side, nods, makes a clucking noise with his tongue. “Right, about that. I’ve. Well. Look, I’ve been so caught up with _your_ problems that I didn’t want to bother you with mine, but now you’re sorted, yeah?”

That couldn’t be further from the truth, though I suppose I’m better off than I was Friday night. Or yesterday morning. I card my fingers through my hair. “Where are you going with this?”

“Right. I’ve been meaning to ask.” He looks from side to side, then clutches his Coke and leans in conspiratorially. “Does it run in families?” 

I blink at him. “What?”

“The whole...liking blokes. Thing.” 

I’m not certain I’ve heard him properly. “ _What_?” 

“I’m not gay,” he says, and I’m struck dumb so I just stare at him. “I know that. But. Something tells me I’m not quite as straight as previously believed.” 

“What’s the _something,_ pray tell?”

“The whole...wanting to stick my tongue in my best mate’s mouth...thing. That. Yeah. That.” I'm not sure what my face looks like right now, but I must be conveying some amount of shock because Dev waves his hand frantically and says, "Not you, _ew_ —"

"Well, _obviously—_ "

" _Niall_ —"

"Since _when_?"

"I don't fucking know, it's just—" He throws up his hands, his eyes wide, "—I don't know! A while, I guess? Didn't really start to suspect until I started hating Philippa for no reason? And I thought maybe _I_ fancied her, and that I was jealous, but I wasn't _really,_ and then, I don't know, I looked at some gay porn one day and thought, _yeah, I could do that_?"

I stare at him. "Are you having me on?"

"Okay, fuck you. _No._ I've not even pulled in weeks; I thought there was something wrong with me—"

"Well, there _are_ a lot of things wrong with you—"

"You're really no help at all—"

"Yes, well. Now you know how _I_ feel."

I’m trying to wrap my head around everything he’s just told me, and I think I’m having trouble catching up; I don’t think the implications have completely set in yet. Also he’s the second bloke in the last month who’s told me _I’m not gay_ and then proceeded to tell me he fancies another bloke, and I’m not rightly sure why all of this is happening _now. I’ve_ known that I’m gay for as long as I can remember. Well. For the most part, anyway, barring a few mental blips where my brain twisted everything on me and made me question the one thing I’ve always been sure of.

I think about the brief, terribly confusing period of time a few years ago when I was having unrelenting intrusive thoughts about the mere _possibility_ of being even the slightest bit attracted to women, furiously wanking away to boring heterosexual porn and cringeing whenever the girls wailed. I’d turn the volume down and imagine the men fucking _me,_ but I was so completely confused at that point that I wasn’t sure _what_ in the world I was. Even my father had the nerve to ask me, “Are you sure this isn’t related to your _mental health_ , Basilton?” when I finally came out to him. (I suppose I can’t blame him, even if that retort did send me into another questioning mindloop for a few more days.) (He eventually came around, in any case.)

I shake my head. “Porn doesn’t exactly _mean_ much, you know—”

“Sure, except I came in about two minutes when I started thinking—” he stops, abruptly, and—holy _fuck,_ is he _blushing?_ I can’t remember the last time I saw Dev blush. I don’t know that I _can_ remember a time I’ve seen Dev blush. That time he pissed himself in primary, maybe. “Jesus _fuck,_ what do I do?” he says, hanging his head and clutching it in his hands. 

I scoff. “You’re asking _me_?”

He scoffs right back. “Well I can’t bloody well ask _him,_ can I?” He breathes deep, lifts his head, eyes widening, and growls the breath back out. He looks like a rabid animal. Or a madman. “Fuck, I can’t do _this._ He’s my best mate; it’d ruin _everything._ And besides, what’s the probability that _all three of us_ are into blokes? Next to nil, I’d think. Oh, fuck _me._ ”

“No, thank you.”

“Piss off.” He scrubs at his face with his hands before looking up at me with pitiful brown eyes. “Can I make it go away? That’d be the smart thing to do, wouldn't it?"

"Make it— _no,_ you witless idiot—"

"Not the _liking blokes_ bit. The. _Fuck_ , are you going to make me say it?" He huffs. "Christ you're going to make me say it. The _fancying Niall_ bit. There. Happy?"

" _Astounded_ is more what I am right now."

Dev sets his jaw and nods at me. " _Same._ " He drums his fingers on the table, chews on the inside of his mouth. Then his eyes light up. “Maybe I should ask your bloke.”

“ _What_?” 

“Well, he’s got _you_ , hasn’t he? No offense, mate, but it can’t have been easy. Maybe he’d have some good advice."

"About what? Not receiving instant gratification?"

"Well, I was thinking more like, lessons in the art of perseverance or whatever? But yeah." He reaches across the table and pokes my hand. His finger is damp from the sweat on his cup of Coke, which only makes me flinch.

"Don't fucking touch me," I say.

"Fuck, I hope you don't talk to Simon that way." He pulls his hand back and wipes it on his trousers. "The bloke deserves a medal—"

"And you deserve a slap upside the head."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm in emotional turmoil and _this_ is how you treat me?"

"You don't seem overly tormented—"

"Oh my God, just talk to him for me, would you? Or I’ll talk to him. Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Yeah. Yep. Yessiree—"

“Would you _shut it_?” I snap. He’s talking so fast that it’s setting my teeth on edge. 

I’ve no idea how to help him. I’m no _good_ at this, and I’ve never fancied someone I was truly close to, like Niall (and thank fuck for that). I’ve also never entertained the possibility that Niall was anything other than straight—he’s given no indication, though he does keep his feelings to himself, for the most part—but then again, I thought the same of Dev, and here we are. 

Simon might be able to help; Dev’s not wrong about that. 

I purse my lips, run my tongue along my incisors. Then I look at my idiot cousin, whose eyes are practically pleading with me, and sigh. “Fine,” I say. “ _Fine._ ” 

 

**SIMON**

I’m tying my apron when Baz and Dev walk into the break room. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Dev says. He exaggerates a wink at me before he slips out of his coat and goes to hang it on the rack. 

Baz is rolling his eyes, but he’s also blushing. I wonder if he knows how fucking _devastating_ he looks when he blushes. It’s got me biting my bottom lip, even from this far away. 

“Snow,” he says, and then he’s slipping out of his coat, too, and _God,_ I just want to walk up to him and pull him close again, like last night. (Fuck, I wonder if he’d let me. Am I able to just _do that,_ now? I don’t know.)

I let myself watch him as he hangs his coat and puts his things away (fuck, I’ve still got his other coat) (I actually _did_ forget it, this time). It’s not like I’m trying to hide it, that I fancy him. Baz already knows, and so does Dev. Fuck, even Ebb knows, now that I’ve had to ask to trade shifts with someone. (Baz is off Wednesday, but I’m set to close. I’ve just texted everyone I could think of to see if someone will switch days off with me; Ebb said it was fine as long as someone was willing.) (And then I’ll need to figure out what we’ll do on our date.) ( _Fuck._ ) (Well, not _fuck._ Just. Shit.)

I try not to think about that for now, about planning our date. I just enjoy the view instead. (A lot.) Baz is wearing a berry-coloured jumper and a pair of dark tan corduroys, and I think I’m fucking sweating, because the way those trousers hug his arse should be illegal. Baz’s arse in general should be illegal. (I’m glad it isn’t, but _Christ_.) I smile to myself when I see the outline of his mobile in his back pocket. He doesn’t put it in his locker.

“Like what you see, Snow?” he says once he’s turned around. He’s raising one perfect eyebrow at me.

My face heats up, but I don’t really care. I just say, “Might do,” and grin at him.

He doesn’t have anything to say to that, but the colour on his cheeks is threatening to match his jumper by now and I’m well chuffed about it. 

I wonder if I should tell him about Wednesday, or if I should wait to see if someone can actually switch shifts with me first. I mean, we _did_ say we’d figure it out, so I feel like it’s probably okay that I figure it out myself for now, and then tell him when I know. Besides, it’s _me_ who’s planning; I’m the one who asked. And it’s not that I wouldn’t be fine with us doing something before work one day, but I’d much rather take him out in the evening. It feels more, I don’t know, _romantic_ that way, I guess. (Thinking about it like that makes my stomach drop a little, in a _really_ good way.) All I can think is that our date—whether it’s Wednesday or no—might be the chance I get to finally kiss him. To give Baz his _first_ kiss. And I keep thinking that maybe it’d be easier for him to do that in the dark. 

It’s not like kissing him’s _all_ I’m looking forward to. I just…

I like him. I like talking to him, and I like texting him, and being around him. And I think I’m definitely going to like kissing him, too. I just hope he’ll like it as much as I know I will. 

I pull my mobile out of my pocket and check it even though I’ve not felt it vibrate. I’ve not had any replies yet, but I guess it’s only been a few minutes.

“Out of contacts so soon, Snow?” Baz says. He’s lisping, and honestly it makes me want to walk right up to him and grab his face and swallow the sounds he makes. It just makes me want to know what his tongue would feel like in my mouth. Or how mine would feel in his. 

Can’t think about that right now. 

I push my glasses up my nose. “Nah. They were just bothering me today. Figured I’d give my eyes a break.”

“Right,” Baz says, and he looks away. I think he’s blushing harder, if that’s possible. (I didn’t think it was, till now.)

Dev gives Baz a ridiculous shit-eating grin—which Baz ignores—then turns to me and winks again. He mimes pushing glasses up his nose and raises his eyebrows at me, like I should understand what he— 

_Oh._

“Come on, you cretin,” Baz says. (I’m fairly sure he’s talking to Dev, but it’s hard to tell sometimes.) “Time to clock in.” 

Then he’s striding towards the break room door, all long legs and half-veiled nervous twitches, and I can’t help but smile. 

 

* * *

 

 **Baz (2:32 pm):** You're deranged if you think I didn't see you motioning at him in the break room.

 **Imbecilic Relation (2:33 pm):** lol motioning

 **Baz (2:33 pm):** Why is that funny?

 **Imbecilic Relation (2:33 pm):** lol idk

 **Voice of Reason (2:35 pm):** What’s this about then?

 **Imbecilic Relation (2:35 pm):** did I really not tell you that baz has a glasses kink

 **Baz (2:35 pm):** Dev is a meddling little miscreant. That’s what it’s about.

 **Voice of Reason (2:36 pm):** Ah, well. We knew that already. Can’t be helped

 **Imbecilic Relation (2:36 pm):** jfc niall i’d expect this from baz but not *you*

 **Imbecilic Relation (2:37 pm):** anyway baz has a glasses kink & his blokes wearing glasses today & baz jsut immediately starts lisping it was great

 **Baz (2:37 pm):** Again, you’re a deranged little chaos demon who can’t mind his own fucking business. Go back to the void where you belong.

 **Imbecilic Relation (2:37 pm):** love u 2

 

* * *

 

 **Fit Idiot (2:37 pm):** hey

 **Fit Idiot (2:37 pm):** you like my glasses?

 **bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(2:38 pm):** That isn’t on our list of questions, Snow.

 **Fit Idiot (2:38 pm):** so? cant i ask smth thats not on the list?

 **bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(2:38 pm):** I suppose so.

 **Fit Idiot (2:39 pm):** so do you like htem 👀

 **bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(3:02 pm):** I suppose so.

 **Fit Idiot (3:03 pm):** that a yes or a no bc im a bit self conscious about them tbh

 **bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(3:03 pm):** Why?

 **Fit Idiot (3:05 pm):** dunno

 **bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(3:10 pm):** Yes, Snow. I like them.

 **Fit Idiot (3:11 pm):** maybr I'll wear them more oftne then

 **Fit Idiot (3:11 pm):** 😉😉😉

 

* * *

 

 **Baz (3:15 pm):** Dev.

 **Baz (3:15 pm):** Fuck you.

**Baz (3:15 pm):**

[ ](http://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/glasses1_zpsby0uob9s.png.html)

**Baz (3:16 pm):**

[ ](http://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/glasses2_zpspmorznah.png.html)

**Imbecilic Relation (3:17 pm):** gskgzjgdkgx U SHOULD BE THANKING ME?!

 **Imbecilic Relation (3:19 pm):** baz is in a strop bc of how fit you look in ur glasses lmao

 **Baz (3:19 pm):** Wrong chat, arsehole.

 **Imbecilic Relation (3:20 pm):** 🤣🤣🤣

**Voice of Reason (3:20 pm):**

**[ ](https://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/niall_zpsc11t3i6p.png.html) **

 

* * *

 

 **dev grimm (3:20 pm):** baz is in a strop bc of how fit you look in ur glasses lmao

 **baz’s barista bloke simon (3:20 pm):** really?

 **dev grimm (3:21 pm):** is baz really in a strop? or do you really look fit in them? bc

**dev grimm (3:21 pm):**

[ ](http://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/bothisgood_zps1spcjnl1.png.html)

**baz’s barista bloke simon (3:21 pm):** lol thanks

 

* * *

 

 **Simon (3:22 pm):** pen

 **Simon (3:22 pm):** i jsut found out that baz is hot for my glasses & idk waht to do w this information

 **Penny (3:25 pm):** I told you they’re cute on you, didn’t I?

 **Simon (3:25 pm):** i jsut

 **Simon (3:25 pm):** omfg i cant wear them EVERY DAY 

 **Simon (3:25 pm):** i always make a mess of thme at work

 **Simon (3:26 pm):** btu jfc he lisps when i wear them & i 

 **Simon (3:26 pm):** omg 

 **Simon (3:26 pm):** penny do i have a lisp kink

 **Simon (3:26 pm):** maybe its just a baz kink 

 **Simon (3:26 pm):** oh my FUCK

 **Simon (3:26 pm):** should i wear them on our date

 **Simon (3:27 pm):** idk ive never snogged in glasses before like what if we snog

 **Simon (3:27 pm):** please tell me we’re going to snog penny

 **Penny (3:27 pm):** I’ve no idea. Didn’t you say you wanted to go slow, anyway? 

 **Simon (3:30 pm):** i mean i dont want to but im going to

 **Penny (3:31 pm):** And you still won’t tell me why?

 **Simon (3:34 pm):** sorry pen

 **Simon (3:34 pm):** not my stuff to tell

 **Penny (3:35 pm):** That’s all well and good, Simon, but I’m afraid I can’t help you with hypothetical snogging questions if I don’t know the reason why it’s potentially off the table. 

 **Penny (3:36 pm):** Just let it happen organically, that’s the best I’ve got.

 **Simon (3:40 pm):** ok but should i wear my glasses on the date tho  
**Penny (3:40 pm):** JFC Simon

 

* * *

 

 **Fit Idiot (4:49 pm):** hey someoen jsut told me they were ocd about their order & I sort of wanted to readh across the counter & punch them

 **Fit Idiot (4:49 pm):** should I be correcting people or

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (5:02 pm):** Snow. Your enthusiasm is appreciated, but I’d prefer that we didn’t make this a frequent topic of conversation.

 **Fit Idiot (5:04 pm):** right yeah

 **Fit Idiot (5:04 pm):** ok sorry

 **Fit Idiot (5:05 pm):** so i should just ignore it or

 

* * *

 

 **lucas work (5:06 pm):** Hey mate I can switch shifts if you still need someone to.

 **Simon (5:07 pm):** yeah THANK YOU

 **Simon (5:07 pm):** ill owe you one

 **Simon (5:07 pm):** srsly

 **lucas work (5:07 pm):** lol it’s nbd

 

* * *

 

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:32 pm):** have you talked to you know who about you know wot yet

 **Baz (5:35 pm):** I’ve not.

 **Baz (5:35 pm):** I might reconsider, if you consider to stop divulging my secrets to Simon every chance you get.

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:36 pm):** that soudns like 0 fun

 **Baz (5:36 pm):** Yes, well. It’s no fun dealing with your meddling, either.

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:36 pm):** sounds fake but ok

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:36 pm):** really tho can you talk to him? I’ll do it if you don’t, but it feels a little weird to just text someone about how you’ve suddenly realized your bi or...whatever i am idk

 **Baz (5:40 pm):** I’m astonished that you’re feeling any trepidation at all. This is so unlike you.

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:40 pm):** do you see me flipping you off rn bc i am

 **Baz (5:41 pm):** You want me to help you, and yet you keep making a worse case for yourself. 

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:41 pm):** omg PLEASE

 **Baz (5:41 pm):** Alright. But I have one condition: this waits until after our first date. Too much to think about for me right now, honestly. 

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:42 pm):** we’re going on a date???

 **Imbecilic Relation (5:42 pm):** omg where are you taking me???

**Imbecilic Relation (5:42 pm): 😍😍😍**

**Baz (5:43 pm):**

[ ](https://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/scar_zpsvov8eyji.png.html)

 

* * *

 

 **Fit Idiot (6:36 pm):** how much would somoen have to pay you for your littel toe

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:40 pm):** What the actual fuck, Snow?

 **Fit Idiot (6:40 pm):** its on the list!

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:42 pm):** I am not pawning my body parts.

 **Fit Idiot (6:42 pm):** *hyptoheticaly*

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:43 pm):** I am not hypothetically pawning my body parts. Who the fuck wrote these questions, a cannibal?

 **Fit Idiot (6:43 pm):** uhhh not much meat on a little toe but go off i guess?

 **Fit Idiot (6:46 pm):** fine how about this one

 **Fit Idiot (6:46 pm):** whats your most embarrassing childhood memory

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:50 pm):** That’s easy; it’s the time Dev pissed himself in front of our whole class in primary.

 **Fit Idiot (6:50 pm):** lol that’s not smth that happened to you tho?

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:52 pm):** Second-hand embarrassment is a real thing, Snow.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:53 pm):** Also Dev is a meddling twat who enjoys giving out embarrassing details about other people’s lives. He deserves this.

 **Fit Idiot (6:53 pm):** lol fair

 **Fit Idiot (6:54 pm):** but aslo you shouldnt be embarrassed

 **Fit Idiot (6:54 pm):** i liek it

 **Fit Idiot (6:54 pm):** taht you like my glasses i mean

 **Fit Idiot (6:54 pm):** not that dev pissed himself

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (6:55 pm):** Thank you for the clarification.

 **Simon (6:55 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** i just want to kiss you

 **Fit Idiot (6:56 pm):** also i want to hug you aagain. can we do that?

 **Baz (6:58 pm): [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** Please.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:00 pm):** I think that can probably be arranged.

 

* * *

 

**BAZ**

 

Simon Salisbury is trying to kill me.

It's been a busy evening, for a Sunday, but the crowd has died down just enough for Snow to have the opportunity to come out from behind his counter and get a head start on cleaning tables. He's bent over one now, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, the muscle in his forearm flexing as he works. And when he looks up at me…

I’m honestly not sure if this is a blessing or if my life is some sort of cosmic joke.

"Hey," he says with a lopsided grin. His glasses are slightly askew and some of his curls are stood on end and it shouldn't be arousing at all but it _is._ Maybe because I can't help but think of him looking like this, not because of work, but because of something I've done. Something we've done _together_ , and with significantly less clothing.

I swallow, cross my arms, shift my weight to one foot, and try to put the image out of my head. A bit of work to unthink such a thing, with him stood right in front of me, wiping his perfect hands on his apron and smiling at me the way he is. (At least I'm _used_ to it, not being able to unthink things.)

Fuck, I never should've come over here.

"About time for a fancy drink, then?" he says.

I nod, because I can't trust myself to speak right now. (I _do_ let myself stare at him as he walks away.) The counter conceals his lower half when he steps behind it, which is both a relief and a disappointment. (His arse is a thing of beauty to behold in those trousers, I admit.) 

It makes me wonder what he’ll look like outside of work.

I saw him at the party, of course, and the first time he ever came to the shop, devastatingly handsome presumed-heterosexual that he was, but that was _before,_ back when I thought that staring at him was as close as I could get to, well. _Anything_. Now I seem to be living in some twisted alternate reality where I’m wondering what Simon Salisbury is going to wear on a date. A date with _me._

He’s not mentioned anything about it—our date—since last night, not even in texts. I’m trying not to think he’s changed his mind, which means I absolutely think he’s changed his mind, even with all the teasing about my fixation on his glasses and the fact that he’s said he wants to hug me again. I was reminding myself of those things over and over again when I finally realized I was treating this like an obsession.

_He’s changed his mind._

_No, he’s not. People don’t just ask to hug other people. What would be the point of poking fun of me for fancying him in glasses? He’s not changed his mind._

_Suppose he has. People change their minds all the time._

_He’s not._

_He has. Why else would he keep quiet about your date?_

_Maybe he’s not planned it out yet._

_He’s changed his mind._

And then, well. Then I realized. And felt like a fool. I felt like a fool, and I breathed into it, and I let it pass. 

And now I’m stood here in front of him and I think my stomach’s just fallen through my arse and onto the floor.

I think perhaps _I_ should bring it up, the date. The prospective date. The date that may no longer be happening, because obviously Simon’s changed his mind about me in a very short span of time. He’s had nearly a day to think it over, everything I told him last night, and perhaps he doesn’t want to deal with it. Perhaps it’s just as simple as that.

“Hey, so,” he says now. He’s writing something on my cup, I think, more than his usual shoddy dinosaur.

 _Maybe that’s his way of letting you down easy,_ I think. _Bloody well writing it on your cup. You were stupid to ever get your hopes up._

“I’m still thinking about our date, y’know?” he says as he caps his Sharpie and sets it down. “Don’t want you to think I forgot. I’ve, um. I've been trying to find someone to trade shifts with, actually.”

I think I almost let out an audible breath. 

 _Is this how it’ll always be, now?_ I think. _Constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop? Surges of unwarranted terror followed by sweet release?_

Well. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?

“Oh,” I say. “No. I was going to ask, actually—”

“I wanna plan something _good,_ yeah? Not that anything wouldn’t be good, I mean. Actually _anything_ would be good, if you’re there.” He huffs and runs a hand through his curls as his face tinges pink. (I think he probably shouldn’t be touching his hair while he works, but I don’t mind.)

“Simon,” I say, and _damn it,_ of course I’m bloody lisping. (I think Snow’s face is nearing scarlet.) “It’s not really necessary—” I let my eyes close and cut myself off, because _why the fuck did I think_ necessary _would be a good word to say right now?_ I sound like I don’t know how to _talk_ at all.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, and I swear he lets his touch linger as I pass him my debit card. It makes me want to feel his hand in mine again. “But it kind of _is,_ though? I want you to have a good time, y’know?”

I concede with a small nod and one corner of his mouth turns up in a sweet smirk as he hands my card back to me.

Then he sets to work on my drink, and I let myself enjoy the view as he turns to pump the syrup. _I want you to have a good time._ Fuck, it’s uncomfortable, having someone _care_ about such a thing. It always is.

“Oh,” he says, stopping with his hand halfway in the air at the espresso machine. “D’you want decaf today?” 

“Yeah,” I say, because I admittedly don’t need the caffeine. (I don’t need all the sugar he just pumped into that cup, either, but it can’t be helped.) "Yes. Please."

“You never sent me a question,” he says as my espresso drips.

“Pardon?”

“From our list. Y’told me about Dev pissing himself, but then you didn’t send a question.”

My lips quirk up of their own accord at Simon nonchalantly saying the words _Dev pissing himself_. “It’s been a busy night, Snow,” I say, which is true. (Unfortunately my truthfulness doesn’t stop the shame of feeling like I’ve disappointed him.) Things may be slowing down now, but the holiday rush was in full swing earlier. I barely had a chance to breathe, let alone text (though I did manage to find _some_ time to respond to Dev’s imbecilic pleas for help and Simon’s oddly adorable urge to punch a stranger on my behalf). “I’ll send you one tonight, I promise.” Fuck, but I’ve gone soft.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Simon says as he pours my half cream. And then he’s shaking the cannister of whipped cream and it’s almost hard to look at him. He gives me extra just like he always does, then sets my cup down gently in front of me. I take it, letting our fingers brush together as I do.

Simon steps back and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’m excited, y’know,” he says. “To take you out.”

My heart is doing some sort of acrobatic routine inside my ribcage. I pull some cream into my mouth to stall for a response, but I find I don’t have one. I don’t know how to _do_ this.

I think, _Just tell him you’re excited, too, you obtuse arsehole._

I swallow. Then I say, “You’ve cream on.” I stop, gesturing stupidly towards his face. “On your glasses.”

“Would, um.” He bites his lip, and _fuck._ “D’you wanna wipe it off for me?” 

I must convey some level of outward shock to match the complete shitshow inside me at the moment, because Simon says, “‘M only joking,” and takes them off to clean them on his apron. I notice his ears have coloured to match his face, and I’m not convinced it was a joke at all. 

I nod. “Of course.” 

He nods back once he’s put his glasses on. “Right.”

That’s when the bell on the café door rings, and a last-minute customer steps in and heads for the counter. 

“Right,” Simon says again, squaring himself behind his register.

“I need to—”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles warmly at me, glances at the customer who’s now stood a few paces away reading the menu. Then he looks back at me. “I’ve not forgotten that hug you promised me, either,” he whispers.

I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me, and it’s going to be a sweet, sweet demise. A slow spiraling to the end. All of my existential dread over the years has been for naught, if _this_ is what death feels like.

I’ve no idea what to say.

I raise an eyebrow and take a tentative sip of my coffee instead, but it’s still too hot. (I make sure not to dip my nose in the cream.) Then I say, “I’ll see you after close, Snow,” and mentally curse the way the words warp on my tongue.

Simon averts his eyes and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. His face is still on fire, and I’m sure mine is too at this point but it can’t be helped.

I nod at him one more time—even though he’s not looking at me—then make myself turn and walk away. (I grab a lid as I pass the station.) 

Dev is stuck at the registers tonight—serves him right, the tosser—and it’s nearly closing time, so I head for the back of the shop to start straightening shelves. 

I wait until I’m alone, heart pounding and hidden behind the fiction section, to look at what Snow’s written on my cup. 

_Wed night 6PM? (I’ll pick u up) :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://s61.photobucket.com/user/thehoneyedhufflepuff/media/datenightmini_zpsdogdwrzo.png.html)   
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> OMG I'VE BEEN WAITING TO WRITE THIS DATE FOR LITERAL MONTHS LET'S DO THISSSSSS


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y’all! It’s been a minute, lol.
> 
> I originally meant to have this chapter out before Wayward Son dropped, butttt first I got sick (I originally thought it would be an accidental boon, & that I’d get a ton of writing done while I was home on the couch, but alas, my brain forgot how to do anything for a few days), then I was casually combusting in the last few days leading up to WS, & then I did the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done & went galivanting across the US for the book release & got to hang out with some of my favorite people for five whole days. So THEN I got home, & my mind was still reeling with WS (I’m on my third time through at the moment; fuck, it’s such a beautiful book). Then I had a travel hangover. And THEN I was finally able to pick this chapter back up & work on it. So. Hopefully it was worth the wait!!!
> 
> Thanks as always to [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) for beta-reading & listening to me flail about all my worries. Y’all are the best.

**BAZ**

I spend the next three days screaming internally. 

It’s made no better by Dev’s near-constant hounding about his sexuality crisis. Not that he’s _in crisis_ about it, exactly. The shop’s almost too busy for his flirtatious proclivities these days, but he still manages to find some amount of time. He’s taken to trying his luck with _everyone_ our age now, not just the girls, and the more I watch him the more I realize that perhaps it’s always been this way. No, it _has_ always been this way. Dev has always flirted with everyone, even before we hit puberty, and I suppose it’s just taken this long for that fact to finally catch up with his conscious, depraved mind.

I don’t fault him for it, but I also can’t wrap my head around it. It’s trying enough for me to flirt with _one_ person; I’m not sure how Dev manages to jump from one to the next. 

“ _Forgotten about Niall already?_ ” I asked just yesterday.

“ _My heart is monogamous,_ ” he said. “ _But a bloke can have a little fun_.”

“ _Looks like more than a little.”_

“ _Well. I have to keep my options open, you know. Considering…”_

And that’s all that was said on the subject. He didn’t _need_ to express the worry that he has no chance with Niall at all. (Though he does express it, fairly consistently and to my immense annoyance.) (I can’t help but feel guilty for feeling that way. I understand his dilemma all too well.)     

Niall, for his part, is taking his falling out with Philippa with as much grace as can be expected. Which is to say that barely anything has changed, besides the fact that she’s no longer a topic of conversation in our texts. 

And, well. I _really_ don’t have the mental energy to expend on that particular debacle at the moment. I’ve got a debacle of my own: an infuriatingly handsome one in horn-rimmed glasses and an apron who’s been flirting with me and blushing incessantly at me and writing secret messages on coffee cups for me since Sunday. It’s been three days of sweet, incredible, disastrous torture. I’d think it a personal attack, really, if that same horn-rimmed debacle weren’t taking me on a date today.

_Today._

He’s the first thing I think about when I wake up—of _course_ he is. That’s how it’s been for days now— _weeks,_ even—and there’s really no point in denying it. Not anymore. 

He’s even invaded my dreams, always wearing those bloody horn-rimmed glasses and... _well._ My dreams are nothing short of debauched, I’ll admit. My walls come crashing down in my sleep, and then _I’m_ crashing into the veiled, dream-state Simon contrived by my unconscious mind. And then I’ll inevitably wake with an unrelenting need pulsing deep in my belly.

That’s how I wake now, my head full of Simon and his horn-rims and a sweet, unyielding ache between my legs. I’m still thinking of him as I push my pyjama bottoms down my thighs, as I bring one hand over to cup myself, as I start to rock against my palm. I’ve a faint thought that I _shouldn’t,_ but I let it pass. I’m still too tired to fight with myself, so I don’t. 

I let myself think about Simon instead—flushed, curls tousled, smirking crookedly at me. He’s wearing his glasses and nothing else, and his palms are warm when he sets them gently on my naked hips. His palms are warm, and his breath is warm, and his _lips_ are warm…

My breath hitches as the Simon in my mind drops to his knees in front of me. Runs his warm hands up and down my thighs. Smirks up at me. His pupils are blown wide behind his horn-rims, and his eyes flit down…

And then he’s taking me in his mouth, and I’ve never felt anything so fucking good in my life. Good because his mouth is warm, and wet, but mostly because it’s _his._

It surprises me when I moan, soft as it is. I don’t usually make noise at all, but of course he’s made me, he’s _made_ me…

He’s taking me deeper, now, and I’m winding my fingers in his curls, and my back’s arching up from my mattress as the fire burns hotter inside me, as Simon’s mouth stokes the flames, as he brings his hands up to press into my arse and bring me closer—

And I gasp, I can’t help it. I can’t remember the last time I came this hard, my heart pounding, my legs flexing, my hips pressing themselves up into oblivion…

_Fuck._

I slow my hand. Breathe deep. Swallow.

And then the shame sets in, damn it all. 

I really don’t have the _time_ for shame, but it’s never stopped me. So I lie here with my cock in my hand while my come cools against my belly and I _breathe._ I lean into it, that awful, gnawing pit inside of me, and I let it pass. 

And then I clean myself up. 

And then I start thinking. It _is_ a specialty of mine, and it’s been a near-constant tirade inside my mind for days now. _What will we do? What the fuck will I_ say? _Will we kiss? Surely we must. Fuck, fuck,_ fuck, _I’ve no idea_ how _to kiss. I’ve never kissed anyone before._

_And will there be more than that?_ Should _there be more than that?_

I don’t know.

The only thing I’m sure of is what to wear. At least I know how to dress myself. 

And Simon. What will _he_ wear? 

I’ve decided it would probably be best if he left his horn-rims at home, though I won’t tell him so. I won’t _admit_ it, even if he already knows what they do to me. 

Snow wore his glasses yesterday—and the day before that—and it’s an honest miracle that I’ve not perished yet. 

_Will he wear them today?_

 

**SIMON**

Penelope picks out light-wash jeans and a blue button-up for me to wear, and I look pretty good in them, honestly. I don’t _really_ want to wear the shirt; I’m in button-ups all the time now at work. (I end up in a henley instead; much more comfortable.) (Penny undoes the first few buttons on the placket and says “ _That’s better._ ”) (I wonder if it’ll make Baz lisp.)

“D’you think it’s okay to wear Converse?” I ask. (I’m glad I’ll be able to leave my non-slip shoes behind, too.)

Penny raises an eyebrow at me in a way that reminds me of Baz. Only it’s less sexy and significantly more terrifying, coming from her. “It’s a date, Simon. You’re not meeting the Queen.” 

“Sure, but this is _Baz,_ ” I say as I grab my cleanest pair of trainers—navy blue Converse, the same shade as my shirt (is this too much blue? I don’t fucking know)—and plop down onto my bedroom floor. “He’s like, I dunno. _Good_ at this sort of thing.”

Penny scoffs as if I’ve just insulted _her_ fashion sense, not the complete lack of mine. “What are you implying, Simon?” 

“I dunno, Pen,” I sigh as I lace up my right trainer. “Just that he’s fit and fashionable and I know fuck-all about all of this stuff.” 

Penny’s face softens—just a little—as she sits down on my bed and watches as I tie my other shoelace. “It’ll all be fine, you know. And I’m sure Basil couldn’t care less about what you wear, if he truly fancies you—which, _yes,_ Simon. He does. Stop giving me that look.” 

“Sorry.” 

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as all fuck. I mean, the last few days have been ace—I worked all of them, but that meant I got to see Baz every day, since he was working, too. I wore my glasses every day, just so I could hear him lisp and watch him blush. And the last few nights I’ve got to thinking about _other_ ways I could make him blush, and…

Can’t think about that right now. 

Also I’ve decided not to wear my glasses tonight. I don’t want to be bothered with pushing them up my nose, and as much as I love listening to Baz lisp, well. I’d love for him to actually _want_ to talk to me. (I think he gets all choked up when he lisps, like he doesn’t want me to hear it or something.) (I’ve thought about telling him that it riles me up, and that I’ve gotten myself off a _lot_ to thoughts of him lisping filthy things at me, but probably that would just embarrass us both.) 

I stand now, brushing my hands on my trousers like there’s dust on them. (There’s not; mostly I do it to dry my palms, and just for something to do besides pulling at my hair.) (I do that, too, anyway.) 

“Fuck, I hope he likes it.” 

Penny looks at me like she’s completely done with me, but I don’t blame her. That’s probably the twentieth time I’ve said that since she’s been here. 

“Try to _relax,_ Simon—”

“Did I tell you I asked him if he’d ever been in love last night? Like, who _does_ that?” 

“I may have a screenshot of the texts you sent me in a panic at 1:30 in the morning, yes. And one day when the two of you have finally sorted yourselves out, I’ll show them all to Basil as a joke.”

“ _Fuck._ ” Both of my hands are in my hair as I take a seat next to Penny on the bed.

“It’s not like he said anything bad—”

“He said _that’s not on the list, Snow_.”

Penny snorts. “You two and your _list_.” 

“I _like_ the list,” I say. “It makes it easier, y’know. If one of us doesn’t know what to say.”

I’m sat here thinking about Baz—about how he’ll be sat _with_ me inside my truck in less than two hours, about how I won’t be able to _text_ him, while I drive, and how I don’t have the list of questions memorized, and _shit,_ what the fuck will we talk about?—when I realize—

“Oh, _fuck,_ I forgot to get his address—”

Penelope leans over and picks up my mobile from my nightstand, then holds it up with a raised eyebrow. “Texting is a thing, Simon.”

“Right, give it here.” I take my mobile from her—I think she rolls her eyes at me—swipe it open…

...and find a few texts from Dev.

 

**dev grimm (4:06 pm):** taking N out for a pint later

**dev grimm (4:06 pm):** not a fancy date like yours or anything but u never know

**dev grimm (4:07 pm):** ok fine its more of a commiseration pint than anything else but STILL

**dev grimm (4:07 pm):** good luck w my cousin tonight btw

**dev grimm (4:07 pm):** hes shitting a brick

 

I had a bit of a weird text from Dev yesterday—right in the middle of work—asking me whether I was gay. He literally prefaced it with _this is weird but._

I wasn’t sure what to say, really, besides _no,_ and he didn’t give me a chance to text him back, anyway. He stopped at the café at the end of his shift instead and asked me to make him a mocha and a flat white to go because he was meeting Niall to watch _Force Awakens._ Again. Like, properly. 

“ _Because, y’know.”_ He raised his eyebrows at me. 

“ _Right.”_

I already knew they were going, sort of. Baz told me, said he offered to pay, even, but they refused. (I told him it was obvious they wouldn’t let him pay, that they’re his _friends._ He said he didn’t much care about the film anyway, and that he’d wait for it on Netflix, if anything. Then I told him I’d watch it with him at home when it comes out, and it took him a solid five minutes to text me back.) (I imagined him sat on his bed blushing the whole time.)  

“ _So about my text_ —”

“ _Oh!_ ” I said as I wrote his and Niall’s names on their drinks. _Mocha for Dev, flat white for Niall. “Yeah, sorry. S’been busy over here. Um. What about it_? _I’m not gay, I mean. I dunno what I am_ —”

Then his eyes lit up and he went off about how I’d _understand_ and how he suddenly had _feelings_ for a bloke, and that maybe they weren’t so sudden, really, and how he’s no idea what to do about it because he thinks the bloke is straight, and—

“ _Oh, the bloke’s Niall, by the way.”_

It took me a minute to catch up, if I’m honest, because I’ve watched Dev flirting with girls constantly since I’ve known him. Then again, the whole _sudden onset of feelings for a bloke_ thing was well relatable, so. 

I told him he could text me, in any case, but that I doubt I’ll be much help, considering I’ve no idea what I’m doing. He just shot me a grin and a wink and hurried out the door with the coffees I’d made. 

And now he’s texting me about _taking Niall out for a pint._ It’s all well and good, but I really don’t have the time to think about it right now. I text him back ( _good on you, mate_ ) then tap out a text to Baz.

 

**Simon (4:24 pm):** hey whats your addrses 🦖👀

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(4:25 pm):** Excuse me, my what?

**Simon (4:25 pm):** omfg you know what i mean

**Simon (4:25 pm):** whats your ADDRESS WANKER

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(4:25 pm):** I believe you’re missing some form of punctuation in there somewhere. I’ve no idea what an “address wanker” is. 

**Simon (4:25 pm):** **🙄🙄🙄**

 

“You’re grinning like an idiot, Simon,” Penny says. 

I shake my head as I type my next text. My tongue’s caught between my teeth. “Baz is a dick,” I say. I don’t look at her. (Maybe that’s rude, I don’t know.)

“Hm. A dick you’d like to fuck.”

“Penny!” I shove her in the shoulder, and she shoves back, laughing. 

 

**Simon (4:25 pm):** just give me your address

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(4:26 pm):** I was beginning to think you’d never ask.

 

And then he sends it to me, just like that. 

I’ve got Baz Pitch’s address right here, in my mobile. 

Oh my God.

Oh my _God._

 

* * *

 

Mum’s already in her scrubs when I walk into the kitchen. 

It’s just after five, and Penny’s just gone, and Mum’ll be leaving about the same time I do. (I’m trying not to think about it too much, about _leaving._ About everything that’ll happen afterward. Or _won’t_ happen afterward.) 

“Don’t you look handsome, love,” Mum says with a raised brow. She’s just finishing packing her lunch, and she’s got the kettle on. 

I move up next to her and get myself a mug out of the cupboard. “Don’t you sort of _have_ to say that?” I ask as I pour my tea. (I end up pouring her some more, too.) “Y’know. Since you’re my mum.” 

“Hm. Well, you’ll always be handsome to me,” she says, moving to sit at the table with her tea. “But also, Penny did a good job.” 

“Well, _I_ picked my shirt,” I say as I take a seat next to her. “And my shoes.” Which I guess is the majority of my outfit, actually. I guess maybe I _did_ do alright. 

I smile as best I can before I take a sip of tea. Fuck, but I’m nervous. Excited, too, of course, but…

I’m trying not to think about it.

“Nervous, love?” Mum says, because she never misses a thing. 

“Could say that.”

“Well, that can be _good,_ too. Being nervous and being excited are practically the same thing, anyway.”

“What?”

“Trust your mother, love. I know these things.” She stops with her tea halfway to her lips. “Oh, speaking of,” she says as she sets her mug down. “I know this is your first date and all, and I assume you don’t plan on… _well_.”

“Well?”

“Hm. Oh, love, we’ve had this conversation before. Only I didn’t think—”

“Oh, God.” I can already feel the colour rising in my cheeks. “Mum, _no_ —”

“Honey, it’s my job as your mother—and as a nurse—to make sure you’re prepared—”

“Oh my God—”

“I’ve seen _horror_ stories—”

“This can’t be happening—”

“I just want to make sure you’re aware of safe anal sex practices—”

“Mum!”

“Condoms are your friend, and you absolutely need lube—”

“ _Mum_! I’m not _shagging_ him tonight! Fuck, I’ve not even _kissed_ him yet—”

“Simon. I know how it is at your age. How d’you think _you_ got here?”

“Oh my _God…_ ”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. Just be careful—”

“Mum. I’m not. I mean. _We’re_ not. I’m. Fucking _hell…_ ” I rake a hand through my hair and try to will my blush to just _go the fuck away._

Mum cocks her head at me. “Just tell me you’ll be careful, when the time comes.”

“Yeah, Mum. I. _Yes._ Just. Time’s not _now._ ” Or possibly ever. (I try not to think about that.)

“Have you had your daily dose of embarrassment, then?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Took your mind off your nerves though, didn’t I?”

I snort. “S’pose so, yeah.”

She smiles at me, then, and reaches for my hand. “You’ll have a good time. I know you will. And I know everything, so it must be true.” 

I smile back at her. “Thanks, Mum.”

She squeezes my hand and draws back, and I think she’s about to go for her tea when she says, “So what do you know about flange safety?” 

“ _What_?!” 

Mum sighs. “Just, if you’re going to start with toys, the base needs to be wide enough. Otherwise your bum might swallow it up and then you’ll end up in the A&E and I _will_ laugh at you. Lovingly, of course.” 

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry at this point, honestly. (I end up rubbing the back of my neck and clearing my throat instead.) “Can we, um. _Not_?” 

Mum waves a hand at me. “Of course, love.” She glances at her mobile and nearly jumps. “Damn, I need to be off.” She stands, her chair creaking along the tile, then sets her mug in the sink and grabs her handbag from the counter. “Everything will be just fine, you’ll see.” She stops next to me, bending and pressing a kiss into my temple. I swear her handbag crackles as she does, which seems weird…

“Oh!” She reaches into her bag, and—

“Oh my fucking God.” 

“Just take them, honey,” she says as she sets a handful of condoms in front of me. “I got all sorts. Take what you need and leave the rest, you know.”

“Okay, Mum. Just. I’ll. Um.” I’m just staring at all the different coloured foil wrappers and honestly I’m shocked I’ve not died yet. “Um. Thanks.”

I wait till she leaves before I press my forehead into the table. 

 

**BAZ**

I’m pacing the entirety of the flat when the texts come in.

 

**Fit Idiot (5:44 pm):** omw

**Fit Idiot (5:44 pm):** bring a blanket

**bookshop bloke baz** **🦖** **(5:44 pm):** Why?

**Fit Idiot (5:44 pm):** not telling

**Fit Idiot (5:45 pm):** would ruin the surprise

**Fit Idiot (5:45 pm):** look i know you hate surprises but youll like this 

**Fit Idiot (5:45 pm):** i mean i hope you will

**Fit Idiot (5:45 pm):** just bring a blanket

 

Oh, wonderful. As if I weren’t already nervous enough. 

I wonder what I could possibly need a blanket for. I’m trying to list all the possible activities that require linens, and all I can think is blanket forts and sleeping and…

_And…_

 

**Baz (5:47 pm):** Is it too late to back out of this charade?

**Imbecilic Relation (5:48 pm):** omfg

**Voice of Reason (5:48 pm):** Remember that you don't *have* to go. But don't back out for the wrong reason

**Imbecilic Relation (5:49 pm):** yeah like 🍆🧠

**Imbecilic Relation (5:49 pm):** thats a bad reason

**Voice of Reason (5:49 pm):** Dick brain?

**Imbecilic Relation (5:49 pm):** his dick brain is trying to ruin a good time and I'll not stand for it istg

**Baz (5:50 pm):** Right. Yes.

 

They don’t _understand._ Not really. I’ve felt on the verge of vomiting since this morning. I’ve barely eaten. I tried to keep my mind off of it, I _tried,_ but trying to keep my mind off of anything always inevitably means it’ll be stuck there for hours. Days. Bloody months…

So I spent my day with an open book in my hand, reading over the same paragraphs over and over again and not taking them in because I was too preoccupied thinking _what if, what if, what_ bloody _if._

I’ve made my cuticles bleed at least five times just in the last few hours. I don’t know how many times I’ve walked the flat. I’ve been dressed and ready since at least four o’clock, because I just had to keep _moving._

All I can think is that tonight might be the night. Tonight might be the night I finally get to feel Simon Salisbury’s lips on mine. (Or _not._ What if it’s _not_?) The thought of it shocks me every single time, no matter _how_ many times I think it. And what if he…

What if he wants _more_ than that? 

I’ve never gotten up the courage to ask him if he’s ever slept with anyone. Surely he has, just _look_ at him. Obviously not with another bloke, but he said he’s had a girlfriend, and if he had a girlfriend...well. 

Fiona wasn’t any help. All she did was throw a box of condoms at my head on her way out the door. (“ _Don’t get up the duff.”_ ) 

They’d all find it hilarious that I’m terrified of even _kissing_ Snow, let alone... _well._ Not that I don’t _want_ to. Someday. Sometime. Not bloody _now._

What’s the _etiquette_ for having sex? Logically I know it has to be an individual thing, but my brain’s been hung up on this for days now and it isn’t about to stop. It’s also mildly inconvenient, considering my body’s _reactions_ to the idea (on the rare occasions I’m _not_ panicking about the possibility…). 

I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t _matter_ if he’s experienced, or if he isn’t. (There’s no _way_ he isn’t…) All that matters is us— _is_ there an _us_?—the way we’re going to do things. The way we’re _not_ going to sleep together tonight, thank God. 

I still have no idea what the blanket could be for, but I pull a clean comforter from the linen cupboard and do my best not to think too deeply about it. (It doesn’t really work.) 

I check my watch for about the twentieth time in the last two minutes and am surprised to find that only two minutes have passed. Right.

I decide I might as well wait outside. He’ll be here any moment. Jesus _fuck, he’ll be here any moment._

I swallow as I slip into a sleek grey overcoat—wool, very warm. (I’m already wearing black jeans, I didn’t want to wear my black coat, too. Snow might think I’ve already planned the demise of our non-existent relationship. Dressed for a funeral, all that.)

I step outside with my comforter under my arm, lock the door. _Check_ that it’s locked, twice. 

I’m not sure why I decided to wait out here. It’s dark. Cold. I could’ve made Snow come to fetch me, have him knock at my door and everything. Have him waiting for me on my doorstep, all ridiculous curls and freckles and that fucking crooked _grin…_

I could use a cigarette. I made my way through half a pack just this afternoon, then I had to clean my teeth three times just to get rid of the taste of smoke. 

I’m considering going back inside, considering calling the whole thing off—

That’s when the red pickup trundles around the corner. 

 

**SIMON**

Alright. Yeah. I’ve got this.

Right? 

Fuck. Bloody fucking _fuck._

I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life.

I mean, it’s just _Baz._ Well. Not _just_ Baz; but it’s not like I’ve never spoken to him. It’s not like we’ve never _hung out_ before…

Except we haven’t, not exactly. The film last week was kind of a disaster, and it’s not like we were alone, anyway. It’s not like it was a _date…_

This. This is a date. A date I’ve planned. And trying not to think about it isn’t really working anymore. I mean...I _want_ to think about it. I want to think about _him._ But fuck…

My mobile tells me where to turn, and I do. There’s a faint _clack_ of buttons on glass from the backseat—I’ve finally remembered Baz’s coat, and I’ve got it hung on the ceiling handle back there. I brought his scarf, too; it’s looped around the coat’s shoulders.

I did _not_ bring all those condoms. Christ. 

That’s something I _really_ don’t want to think about. I mean, I _do,_ but not _now._ Like...

Oh, _fuck_.

There he is.

Baz.

He's stood outside the building, under a streetlamp, holding a bundle of something. Probably the blanket I told him to bring. _Good._ (Fuck, I hope this isn't a completely crap idea…)

He's watching my truck as I pull up to the kerb, maybe even watching _me._ (I swear he's got an eyebrow raised, even if I can't properly see his features from here.)

I pull up as close as I can get, then put the truck in park and roll the window down.

"Hey," I say. (I try to sound at least half-sure of myself.)

He _is_ raising an eyebrow at me. Maybe that's just his default expression, like resting bitch face or something. (Resting Pitch face?)

He nods at me. "Snow."

My truck's not massive, not like what they've got in America, but it's still putting me at eye level with him for once. I might even be taller. (I'm not sure he likes it.)

I jerk my head. "C'mon then."

He opens the door and hesitates, his stormy eyes flitting around the cab. "This is a monstrosity—"

I roll my eyes at him and tighten my grip on the wheel. (I wonder if he'd be offended if I reached over to help him in.) (It really isn't a big truck, and his legs are long.) ( _So_ long.) "Just get in. Here." I reach for his bundled blanket instead of him. He hands it to me. (It smells like him.)

Is it possible to clamber gracefully? Must be, because that's what he does, lifting himself into the cab and sliding into the passenger seat. He doesn't look at me as he belts up. "Why've I brought linens, Snow?" He's lisping. It makes me bite my lip.

"Don't worry about it," I say. "Not important just yet." (I’m just now realizing that asking him to bring a blanket might’ve seemed a bit suggestive…)

He scoffs, but it's not mean. "You should know that this is the most impulsive thing I've ever done."

_Impulsive._ I can make Baz Pitch _impulsive…_

I smile at him, and he finally looks at me. I want…

Fuck, I want so _much._ But for now…

_Fuck,_ it's enough just to look at him. To have him right here.

I put the truck in drive. I have to pull my eyes away from him to pull away from the kerb.

“I suppose you still won’t tell me where we’re going?” Baz asks.

“Nah,” I say. I want it to be a surprise—a _good_ surprise—but I also haven’t told him because I’m half-afraid I’m going to cock it all up. He’s probably used to fancy dinners and, I don’t know. (What _do_ rich people do, anyway? It’s not like he’s going to expensive parties. Baz isn’t going to _parties,_ full stop.) Anyway, _I’m_ not rich. The café pay is something but it’s not much, really, and I wasn’t about to ask Mum to help me pay for a date, even though she would’ve. I’m half-expecting _Baz_ to offer to pay for stuff, but I won’t have it. I mean, he can pay for stuff when he plans a date for us. If he ever plans a date for us. _If_ there’s another date after this…

Can’t think about that right now.

Anyway, I’ve tried to put some thought into tonight, even if it’s cheap. It’s the _thought_ that counts, right? And it’s not like something special has to cost extra…

“You know I hate surprises, Snow,” Baz says. The words are all slurred together, and he stops talking. (Fuck, I _wish_ he wouldn’t get so bloody embarrassed about that. It’s sexy as fuck.) (Maybe there’s something wrong with me…)

“Okay, fine,” I say. “I’ll give you a hint. But also, I _told_ you I know you hate surprises. This isn’t a _bad_ surprise—” I _hope._

“So it’s not on the level of, say, acquiring a job at my workplace without my knowledge? Not _that_ sort of surprise?”

I scoff at him. “No. And are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“Unlikely.”

“Right.”

He waits a beat, then, “What’s my hint, then?”

“Right, okay. We’re going _two_ places.”

“Are you trying to outdo yourself before we’ve even gotten started?”

I roll my eyes, but probably he can’t see me do it. Not unless he’s watching me. ( _Is_ he watching me?) (I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but he’s staring straight ahead.) “We’re going two places,” I repeat. “The first is indoors. The second isn’t.” 

“Does the second require a sacrifice of bedclothes?”

“Something like that.” 

 

**BAZ**

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t _this_. 

I watch Snow as he puts his deathtrap of a vehicle in park, as he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, as he starts to rub at the back of his neck. He’s blushing when he turns towards me.

“Hope this is alright?” he says. He sounds nervous, like maybe he thinks he’s completely missed the mark.

He hasn’t.

I could kiss him, right now. For this. For bringing me here. (I _don’t_.) (I’m still a little nauseous, in any case; I’ve been having visions of being sick in his mouth…)

The shy smile on his face is sure to ruin me if I keep looking at him, so I turn away. “It’s more than alright,” I say. “But they close soon, surely. We should head in.”

“Right,” Snow says, scrambling with his seatbelt. “Right, yeah. Yeah, c’mon.”

I relish at him struggling with his belt for a moment. It reminds me of the other night at the cinema, when he practically trapped himself inside his own duffle coat. It’s sickeningly endearing. 

I think he’s probably just as shaky as I am right now, truth be told, but I can’t resist poking at him. “Having trouble, Snow?”

He shoots me a look just as he frees himself. “I’m _nervous,_ you prat.”

I undo my belt and let it slide gently back into the retractor, cocking an eyebrow at him for emphasis. Fuck, he’s so bloody gorgeous, even without those infernal horn-rimmed glasses. (Thank _fuck_ he left those at home.) “That makes two of us,” I admit. (Though at least the feeling of impending vomit is starting to pass.)  

His lips quirk softly at me, and I almost think he’s going to lean across the console… 

But he doesn’t. He hops out of the truck, and I let myself out. Then he’s meeting me awkwardly on the pavement so that we can walk together into the Natural History Museum. 

“S’quiet here,” he says as he opens the door for me. Bloody _fuck,_ Simon Salisbury is holding a door open for me. The door to a _museum,_ for Christ’s sake. I think I might swoon. “I thought, y’know. It’d be good. You said you like peace and quiet, so—”

“It’s lovely,” I tell him, probably too eagerly. _Fuck,_ I don’t want to sound desperate, but he’s brought me to a _museum..._

We leave our outerwear at the coat check so we don’t have to carry it around. Simon doesn’t struggle with his tonight, but _I_ struggle not to stare at him once it’s gone. He’s wearing a navy blue henley with his sleeves pushed up to the elbows, his perfect forearms on display for all the bloody world to see. Perfect. _Exquisite,_ even. The first few buttons on his shirt are undone, and I wonder what it’d be like to touch him there, right at his chest, his collar. I wonder what it’d be like to rest my head there.

Obviously I’m getting ahead of myself. 

He catches me looking. Of course he does.

“Like what you see, then?” he says. He’s trying to tease me, I think. I blush at the implication, not to mention the memory of saying the same to him just the other day. Bloody embarrassing. Though he’s blushing, too, if I’m not mistaken. It’s a lovely thing, a rose-coloured flush rising in his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s dazzling with his scattering of freckles.

Oh. I’m staring again. And Snow is grinning at me.

I avert my eyes and roll them as I slip out of my coat.

Well. It would seem it’s Simon’s turn to stare.

As well he _should._ This is a lovely shirt—aubergine with navy leaves—and, well. I'm not modest. I know I have a good body. I'm completely wrecked mentally, sure, but I was at least dealt an ace in looks.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he says. "Can you blame me? You're hot. You know it. I know it. Everybody bloody well knows it."

"Yes, well. Not everyone stares at me slack-jawed." In a _museum,_ no less...

He scoffs at me, though it doesn’t cover up the fact that his cheeks have gone completely beet red. "Clearly you haven't been paying attention."

I’m just thinking that I sound like a complete tit, and a complete arsehole, and that there’s no way in hell Simon Salisbury will _actually_ want to continue dating me after this, when he says, “C’mon, then; let’s go find a dinosaur.” 

 

**SIMON**

Baz is nervous.

I mean, _obviously._ And I am, too.

He’s also incredible to look at. I mean, I _knew_ that, but having him here with me, alone, dressed like he’s trying to impress me ( _is_ he trying to impress me? I think maybe he’s just _posh…_ ) makes me feel well special. And also like I should’ve worn the bloody button-up. And also like there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to keep myself from kissing him tonight. Or at least from touching him.

I’m so relieved that he’s comfortable here. I’m so relieved he _likes_ this.

I can’t remember the last time I was here, actually. Mum used to take me lots of places, when I was a kid. The zoo. The museum. The science centre. I loved it all, and I’m sure Baz did, too, now that I see the way his eyes light up anytime they land on something that interests him: historical artefacts, fossils of creatures that lived millions of years ago, old books. (Especially the old books.) I wonder if his mum brought him here, too.

We round a corner, and there it is, the thing I’ve been trying to find since we got here: a massive tyrannosaurus skeleton. Or a fossil. Or a mold of a fossil, rather. Whatever it is, it’s bloody _cool._

I’m close enough to nudge Baz in the ribs. I do. (He jumps, which is fucking adorable.) He glances at me, and I nod at the dinosaur. “S’you,” I say. 

He _laughs._ It’s quiet, and breathy, and beautiful. And I want to hear it again. 

There’s a railing around the exhibit. We both grab it as we look up at the giant thing. It’s brown, like it just stepped out of a sepia photograph or something. I try to imagine it with _wings,_ like a dragon, spread out behind it and beating.  

It’s a scary thought, actually. The real thing in front of me’s a scary thought, too, once I actually get to _thinking_ about it. It’s massive. Bloody terrifying.

“Can you imagine?” Baz says. “Imagine this thing out there in the world.” He’s not lisping, not anymore. He’s in his element, I think. _Knowing_ things. Learning them.

I’m still craning my neck to get a look inside its giant mouth. “I was just imagining that bit from _Jurassic Park,_ actually.” I look at him, then. He’s still looking up. “Y’know. When that one guy hid in the loo and the t-rex ate him anyway. Snatched him right up.”

His Adam’s apple is jutting out from his neck. I’ve a sudden urge to lean over and kiss it. Or lick it, maybe. (I don’t.) It bobs as he swallows, and when he makes a little amused noise. Fucking hell.

I have to look away, so I stare at our hands instead. Mine’s almost touching his on the railing, and the light from the exhibit’s shining on his scars.

I take a breath. Then I nudge the side of his hand with mine. I feel the change in the air as he looks away from the dinosaur. Might be he’s looking at me. Or maybe at our hands, too.

“Can I?” I say, quietly. I’m hoping he hears me. But also I’m sort of afraid of the answer for some reason, like maybe he’s changed his mind, now that we’re alone. _Really_ alone.

I hear him inhale. “Can you what, Snow?”

What a wanker. He _has_ to know…

I lift my hand and set it on top of his. He lets me work my fingers between his and the railing, lets me pull his hand away from it so I can lace our fingers together. His palm is cold from the metal. (It’s bloody freezing in here.)

I look at him and try to raise an eyebrow, that way he’s always doing to me. I don’t think it works. “ _This,_ ” I clarify. (I feel like a bit of a prat, but I try not to think about it.)

Baz’s grey eyes meet mine, just for a second. “You don’t have to ask.” 

I grin at him and squeeze his hand. 

 

**BAZ**

Simon barely lets go of my hand as we walk the rest of the museum.

He points things out to me with his other hand instead, and his voice echoes off the walls. ( _“There’s another old book for you,”_ and “ _Fuck, look at the size of that_ whale, _”_ and _“You’ve got a pteradactyl over your head, Baz. Best make sure it doesn’t mess up your hair.”_ ) (“ _That’s a_ pteranodon, _Snow. I thought you knew all about canon history?_ ”)

It's a Wednesday night, and near closing time. It's quiet in here, almost haunted, but in a good way, somehow. We don’t pass many people, and I don’t think I would notice if we did, in any case. Not with Simon touching me. Not with the way the warmth of his hand is seeping into my palm. Not with the way the feel of his skin against mine has my heart thumping, has me reeling. 

I think I might be a bit of a cliché, but I don’t care. 

He has to let go of my hand when we retrieve our coats. I miss the heat of it, the _gentleness_ of it.

“You hungry?” he says as he shrugs into his duffle coat. 

“Yeah,” I say. I’m fucking famished, truth be told. I’ve finally calmed down enough to be hungry. 

He’s stood there in front of me, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He keeps glancing down at my hand. (It’s at my side; I had to consciously make an effort not to slip it into my pocket on reflex.) _Take it,_ I think. _Please…_

He holds his hand out between us instead. He wants _me_ to take _his…_

“C’mon, then,” he says. 

I do. 

 

* * *

 

We end up at a café near the museum called Mummers House. Snow buys us sandwiches and tea and won’t let me pay for any of it. 

“ _Put that away; I planned this_ ,” he said when I took out my Visa.

_“You took me to the museum_ —”

“ _Yeah, which was_ free—”

“ _Snow_ —”

“ _Let me buy you a goddamn sandwich.”_

I let him buy me a goddamn sandwich. 

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and I _know_ that’s alright, technically—especially with our mouths full—but also the anxiety of _not knowing what the fuck to say_ is eating at me. That’s when Snow says,

“D’you think Dev’s got any chance with Niall?” 

I almost choke. 

I force my food down my throat so I can say, “Pardon?” without a mouthful of bread and bacon. 

“Fuck, d’you not know?”

“Has Dev been talking to you about this?” 

“Yeah.”

I sigh and set down my sandwich. “That absolute _twat_ —”

“What’s the matter?”

“ _Dev._ Always Dev.” 

“Right.” 

“I bloody well _told_ him to leave you out of this until after tonight—”

Simon’s brow knits together. “Why?”

“Because the moron wanted _me_ to talk to _you_ about it, and I told him I needed to wait. Too much on my mind.” I refrain from saying _I’ve been too busy perseverating about tonight_ — _for literal days now_ — _to think about anything else,_ and _worrying about my own love life is sufficient stress without having to worry about his, too,_ and _I’m still trying to wrap my head around_ Dev _wanting to_ date _our best friend._

“He texted me yesterday. Guess he didn’t want to wait.”

“Yes, well. Dev is an impatient imbecile—”

“I don’t mind talking to him,” Simon says. Of course he doesn’t. He’s too _good_ to mind.

I’m afraid to ask, but also I have to know. “What’d he say?” 

Simon snorts. “ _This is weird but are you gay?_ ” 

“Fucking—”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Simon says, waving a hand. “I mean. I didn’t really have a good answer for him. I dunno. Had to tell him I didn’t even realize I was into blokes till you. S’like I’m _Baz-sexual_ or something.” His eyes widen, and his cheeks flush, and he swallows. It’s a whole scene. “Um.” He scoffs at himself and scratches at the back of his head. “ _Right…_ ” 

 

**SIMON**

Why do I say things?

_Baz-sexual,_ Jesus fucking Christ. I mean, it’s sort of _true,_ I guess, but also embarrassing…

“I mean,” I try, but I don’t know how to _fix_ this. I don’t even know if it _needs_ fixing. All I know is that Baz is sat across from me, blushing, and I guess he’s speechless now, too. Either that or he’s trying to keep himself from lisping. I swallow again; I can't seem to stop doing that. " _Right._ "

“Well,” Baz finally says. “You’ve certainly enlightened me, Snow. I wasn’t aware that I was my very own sexual orientation.” He’s lisping so hard, I think he almost spits. I want to lean across the table and shut him up with my mouth. And also I want him to keep talking like that. Also I’m sure my face has never been redder in my entire life. 

I don’t know what to say. I don’t have _come-backs._ Fuck, even Baz has come-backs, and he’s good enough at them that the lisp doesn’t even matter. 

I just shrug instead.

Baz sucks on his teeth and averts his eyes while he stirs his tea. I can’t help but notice how long and lovely his fingers are. I mean, it’s not the _first_ time I’ve noticed, obviously, but it’s the first time I’ve seen him _stir a cup of tea_. I watch for a few seconds. I notice his cuticles are red, and his first knuckles. Sort of shiny, too. He must notice me watching, because he stops stirring and clenches his hand and hides it behind his teacup. 

“So d’you think it’ll work out?” I say, picking at some of the crust on my sandwich. “With Dev and Niall, I mean.”

“I’ve no idea,” Baz says. “I’ve not spoken to Niall about it.”

“Dev’s worried, I think. Says he thinks Niall’s straight.” 

“Well, that’s a valid worry,” Baz says. He picks up the rest of his sandwich in both hands (he’s barely eaten, so far). “Niall’s been. Well, he’s always been supportive, and kind. But he’s never given any indication…”

“Maybe he doesn’t know yet,” I say. “I didn’t know. Dev didn’t.” 

Baz sets his sandwich back down—without taking another bite—and wipes his hands on his napkin.  “Something I just _don’t_ understand. How did you not _know_?” 

I shrug again. “Dunno.” It’s _true;_ I can’t explain it. Though I guess some things do make a lot more sense now, in retrospect. Still, I’ve no idea what I _am._ And I’m not sure it even matters, honestly. 

I’m just now realizing that maybe this whole sexuality thing might be confusing for Baz. Like maybe he doesn’t think I’m being serious about this. About _us._ I _am._ (I’m so serious, I’d take the Joker off-guard.) He _has_ to know that. 

"I dunno what I am," I say, reaching for his hand. He lets me take it. "But I like _you_." I want to say, _I_ want _you. I want to press our hips flush and catch your lips with mine. I want to know_ everything _, everything there is to_ know _about you. I want to make you laugh, and see you smile. I want to hold you in my arms until you fall asleep._

_I just want_ you. 

I squeeze his hand instead. 

He says, “Good.”

 

**BAZ**

Snow is driving us into the country, and I’m thinking maybe this is all part of his elaborate ruse to get me alone to murder me. There’d be no one around to see, and he’d have plenty of secluded space to choose from for burying my body. Or whatever he’ll do with it, once I’m gone. 

It’s alright. As long as he kisses me first. Then at least I’ll die happy. 

I don’t realize I’m chewing at my thumb until Simon reaches over and pulls my hand from my mouth. _Fuck,_ I’ve really been mindful not to do that around him—it’s disgusting—but clearly we’re going somewhere quiet, somewhere we’ll be truly _alone,_ and I’m terrified. And excited. If Simon doesn’t kill me, the anticipation surely will. 

He laces our fingers together and pulls on my hand until our fists are resting against his thigh. I can feel the warmth of his skin through his jeans, so unbelievably hot even as the winter air chills the truck from the outside. My insides have been shivering since we left the café, even though Snow turned the heat on for me.

_“You cold?”_

_“I’m fine.”_

_“D’you want me to turn the heat up?”_

_“No."_

_“I’m turning the heat up.”_

His thumb traces over mine where I’ve been biting it. I have to clench my other hand into a fist so I don’t start on that one, too. “You’re nervous,” he says, superfluously.

_You’re driving me somewhere_ — _alone_ — _in the dark, in this red horror, with_ bedclothes (are the blankets for wrapping my body in?), _and all I want is for you to kiss me. And also I’ve no idea what to_ say _to you, and even though you told me you like me…_

_How am I supposed to believe it?_

“Well-spotted,” I say. 

His hand squeezes mine. I want to pull back. I don’t want to let go. “Y’know I am too, yeah?”

“Well.” I huff. “You do a much better job of containing it.” 

“It’s okay, y’know,” he says. “Whatever you’re feeling. It’s okay.”

I look at him, but he’s watching the road. “Have I brought linens for you to wrap my body in once you’ve killed me? Is this the equivalent of digging my own grave?” 

Snow’s brow furrows, I can tell even in profile. He glances at me. “What?” 

Of course I’m _disturbed._ I can’t even joke about it, obviously. 

That’s when Simon starts laughing. “Yeah,” he says. “You caught me. I’m a murderer. Hope to show you a good time in your final hours, though.” 

“What.” 

“I mean.” Is he blushing? I can’t tell; it’s so _dark_ out here, without the lights from the city. “Christ, I didn’t _mean_ …” He snorts. “Fuck, my mum dropped a bunch of condoms in front of me before I left, y’know. And I just.” He squeezes my hand. (His palm’s starting to sweat.) “I love her, but it was _weird._ ” 

I wonder if he can feel how fast my heart is beating. It’s a bit of work to get the image of Simon Salisbury surrounded by unwrapped condoms out of my head. Which of course leads to an image of Simon Salisbury wearing nothing but his horn-rims, condom packet in hand, grinning at me laid out in front of him, terrified but wanting... 

Fucking hell, _why_? 

I swallow. “I may have had a similar experience with my aunt.” 

Simon’s grinning, and shaking his head. I think about asking whether he’s brought any condoms with him (I haven’t, and I _hope_ he hasn’t), but I don’t know how to bring it up. I don’t know how to ask him if he’s a virgin. _How_ do you ask someone if they’re a virgin? Should we even be talking about this? We’re not even _boyfriends._ We’re apparently just two nervous blokes—with very supportive relations—halfway through our first date. Two nervous blokes who haven’t even _kissed..._

I sort of feel like vomiting again. 

 

**SIMON**

Why the fuck did I just tell him about the condoms? 

It was supposed to be a joke, sort of. Lighten the mood. I guess it sort of did, but also...

Now my brain’s stuck on the fact that his aunt gave _him_ some, and I’m wondering how sex even _works_ with two blokes. I mean. I know how it _works._ But how do you decide who does what? 

Oh, fuck. 

Jesus _Christ._

I decide it’s not important just now. Obviously. We’ve not even _kissed…_

Does he want me to kiss him, I wonder? I’ve still not decided if I’m going to try. Apparently he thinks I brought him out here to pull a Zodiac Killer on him or something, which isn’t...great. Like, definitely not the best state of mind to be in for your first kiss...

I guess he’s half-right. I do want to show him the stars.

 

**BAZ**

Simon pulls the truck off the road eventually.

There’s nobody else out here, not a soul. All it is is pitch darkness and stars. The only light shines down from the moon. 

He puts the truck in park. Kills the engine. The headlights die. 

“We’re here,” he says. He squeezes my hand before he lets go of it. 

“Right, so you _have_ brought me out in the middle of nowhere to kill me. Wonderful.” 

“Nah,” he says. “I’ve decided I like you too much for that. C’mon. Grab your blanket.” 

He’s brought blankets, too; a few of them. And pillows…

_Oh._

I have to laugh at myself for taking this bloody long to figure this out. 

I’m suddenly full of warm feelings for Simon. (Not that I’m not _always_ full of warm feelings for him.) I don’t know how dates usually work; this is my _first,_ after all, but I can’t imagine anyone else being so thoughtful as this, so attentive. I told him I liked peace and quiet, so he’s brought me to the most peaceful, most quiet place…

I grab my blanket from the back and step outside. The cold is biting at my face, my hands. A shiver runs through me, but I’m not sure it’s the chill that’s doing it or my own nerves. 

I meet Snow just as he’s lifting himself up into the bed of the truck, and I can't help my eyes landing on his arse as he crawls about on his hands and knees, spreading the blankets and adjusting the pillows under the light of the torch from his mobile. He's wearing light wash Levi's, looser than what I'd wear, but the shape of him’s still bloody perfect—

"Hey," he says, and I startle. He's watching me watching _him_ and all I want is to sink into the ground. (The moonlight’s enough that he’s seen what I’m looking at, surely.) He smirks and jerks his head at me. "C'mon, then."

"Right," I say, then I hand him my blanket and lift myself into the bed, too.

 

**SIMON**

Please like this. _Please._

I guess I hadn’t thought much about the fact that this whole plan requires us to _lie down next to each other_ back here. I mean, I _knew_ it, but now that it’s time…

We’re both on our knees. I’m staring somewhere around the middle of Baz’s thigh (he’s wearing black jeans, so fitted I think I’ve nearly died each time I’ve glanced at them tonight). I realize it might look like I’m staring at his crotch, so I look over his shoulder instead.

“Yeah, so.” I’m rubbing the back of my neck before I can stop myself. “Um. Here, let’s lie down, yeah?” I’m shaking. I almost _never_ shake in the winter. Maybe this was a shit idea, maybe it’s too cold. Or maybe I’m not shaking from the cold at all…

I let Baz get situated under the blankets first. (I’m hoping mine don’t smell weird. I mean, they’re _clean,_ but I’m just now realizing that it’s weird to use other people’s blankets. They don’t smell right when they aren’t your own.) (Baz’s smells like cedar and bergamot, so it’s perfect. Of course it is.)

Then I shuffle in next to him. I try to do it gently, partly because I’m scared, and partly because I don’t want him to think I’m trying to make a move. I _wouldn’t,_ not yet. I just want to show him the stars…

We lie here next to each other in silence for a few minutes. It’s _awkward,_ but also it’s _not,_ and I’m not sure how to explain it. Or why. 

“My mum used to bring me out here,” I say. “She could name all the constellations. She.” I stop. And swallow. “She said my dad used to bring her here, too. He told her _they’d_ be stars, one day...and.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I don’t know why I’m _thinking_ about it. “Then he just left her. So. Guess he didn’t mean it.” I chew on my bottom lip. Baz is quiet. “Um. Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he says. “No, it’s alright.”

“I just. I dunno. I _liked_ it, when we’d come out here. I think maybe she was trying to make new memories, y’know? Good ones.”

I can hear Baz breathing next to me, not saying anything. Probably I’ve cocked this whole thing up, bringing up my dad. It’s _stupid,_ and it _hurts,_ and—

“Simon.” It’s quiet, when he says it. 

“Yeah?” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I mean, it sort of was,” I say, shifting so my head’s facing him. He’s lovely, in the moonlight. (He’s _always_ lovely.) The light is shining in his hair, like that one song—what’s it called? ‘Drops of Jupiter’...

“He didn’t leave her till she got pregnant—” I start. 

“That’s _not_ your fault,” he repeats. He turns to face me, too. His eyes meet mine but flick away just as quickly. (The stars are shining in them, too.) “He was a shit. If you don’t mind me saying.” 

I don’t. And I _know_ that; I do. 

I huff a laugh, and it billows mist between us. I hope he’s not too cold. I wonder if he’d…

I wonder if…

Fuck it.

“C’mere,” I say, softly. 

Baz looks sort of startled, like I’ve just suggested something terrifying and unthinkable. 

I knock his shoulder with mine, then raise my arm. “C’ _mere,_ ” I say again.

He hesitates. “Is this the bit where you murder me in cold blood?” 

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure. Figured I’d warm you up first, though.” 

He gives me a once-over, and then he’s crowding against me, pressing into my side, shuffling down until I can wrap my arm around his shoulders. He lays his head on my chest carefully— _so_ carefully. I think about pressing a kiss into his hair. (I don’t.) I can smell it from here, woodsy and citrusy and bloody perfect, just like the rest of him. A few strands are tickling my nose.

I tighten my arm around him, squeezing him to me. If this were a hug, we would’ve let go by now. I can feel him shivering against me. (I try not to think this was a shit idea, bringing him out here in the cold.) (I think maybe he’s not shivering from the cold…)

I raise my other arm and point to the sky. “D’you know them?” I whisper. 

“Not really,” he says. It’s muffled in the fabric of my duffle coat. One of his arms snakes around my waist, his hand coming up to rest on my chest, right near his face. Bloody hell. 

“There’s _Pegasus,_ ” I say. (I’m hoping my voice doesn’t shake too much.) “It’s supposed to be sort of the top half, I guess. Upside-down. See the legs? Just there—”

“Nothing up there looks like a bloody _Pegasus…_ ” 

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me do it. “You’ve got to use your imagination, you tosser. So there he is, just there. And— _oh_! There’s an easy one. _Draco,_ see the one that looks like a snake?” I move my arm, tracing the stars with my finger. 

“Arguably,” Baz starts, his breath misting over my chest, “one could make a case for all the stars forming one giant serpent. A massive basilisk, you know. Slithering across the sky on its death rampage—”

“Don’t basilisks just freeze you?” I say. 

“ _No,_ Snow; you’ll fall dead with a single glance. The freezing happens if you look indirectly.” He pauses and shifts his head against me. “Though honestly I might be confusing legend and _Harry Potter_ lore…”

“You’re such a fucking swot,” I say. I drop my arm from the air and wrap it around him. “A _hot_ swot,” I say, even though it makes me blush. (Baz twitches in my arms.) “And also a nerd.” I fucking love it.

“Shut up and show me more stars, Snow,” Baz lisps. His words are falling over each other. (I love that, too.)

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, okay.” 

I point back to the sky. 

 

**BAZ**

Simon Salisbury showed me the stars.

And now we’re lying here, in the bed of his truck in a makeshift nest of blankets and pillows, and it’s _quiet,_ so quiet. All I can hear is the sound of our breathing. The sound of his heart. 

I don’t know how long it’s been. 

I think about that cursed text he sent me last night.

_Have you ever been in love?_

What a question. 

The answer was _no_ , of course. When have I ever had the time to fall _in love_? When has anyone ever had the gall or the wherewithal to fall in love _with me_? Who would _want_ that? 

I think…

Is it too soon to think it? Is it _wishful thinking_ to think that maybe… _maybe_ …

Simon’s heart is beating in my ear. And his arms are around me, and I’ve never felt someone hold me like this. I’ve never felt someone so incredibly, undeniably _warm…_

_Am I overanalyzing this? Am I prescribing too much meaning?_

I want to take my coat off. I want to be closer, to feel the heat of him through his shirt, to let it seep through mine and into my skin. I want to lift my head and bury my face in the place between his neck and shoulder. I want to breathe him in, that earthy, heady scent, that hint of cinnamon. I want, I want, I _want…_

I want so much. _Too_ much. 

And I think he might, too. 

I think…

I think I’m falling.

 

**SIMON**

I don’t think we’ve run out of things to say; I just think we aren’t saying them. 

Baz is lying in my arms. He’s so _warm,_ and I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so good. 

I think about saying his name, about coaxing him to lift his head from my chest. I think about turning into him, and letting my lips ghost over his. I think about rolling gently, pressing into him until he's beneath me.

I think about kissing him.

I think about _more_ than kissing him.

It's all well and truly terrifying, and also I'm not sure I _should._ I mean, I definitely shouldn't do _more_ than kiss him just now. But I'm not sure I should do _that_ , either.

I don't want to scare him away. I don’t want to go too fast.

_Is_ this too fast? I keep hearing Penelope in my head, saying, _Let it happen organically, Simon._

I can’t remember how to do that. I suddenly can’t remember any of the kisses I’ve ever had, because they don’t bloody _matter_ anymore. All that matters now is Baz, his head on my chest, his arm around me, my arms around him…

All that matters is the sound of him breathing. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest under my arm, against my side. I’ve felt his heart beating fast so many times tonight. Sometimes I thought I could almost _hear_ it, beating fast for me. For us. 

I don’t know if I should kiss him. I want him to be _ready..._

I have to open the café tomorrow morning. That was the trade. Not ideal. And it’s already eleven, at least…

I don’t want to take him home.

 

**BAZ**

 

“I don’t want to take you home,” Simon says in my ear. “But I have to open tomorrow.”

I lift my head. “Why didn’t you say so, Snow?” It’s late; there’s no way he’s getting enough sleep tonight.

His face is pressing into my forehead. He’s so _warm…_

“I didn’t want to let you go.” 

_Oh…_

Is this the moment? All I’d have to do is shift my head, tilt my chin towards him…

My stomach lurches. “Let’s head back then,” I say. Godfuckingdamn it. 

Simon nudges my head with his face and tightens his arms around me, pulling me to him. Then he lets go, just like that. “Okay.” 

It’s awkward, moving away from him. Folding the blankets together. Not really _looking_ at each other while we do it. I nearly fall out of the truck bed when we move to get out; my legs are chilled to the bone, even with the warmth under all the blankets. Even though Simon was a human furnace at my side. He catches me with a laugh, and pulls me into him again, now that we’re stood on the ground. 

My overcoat is unbuttoned, and he slips his arms beneath it, around my waist. I’m weak on my feet, and I’m not sure if it’s the numbness or if it’s _Simon’s_ doing. 

His face is turned against mine, his lips by my ear. “You’re not usually this clumsy.” 

My breath is catching, and I’m swallowing, and I _need_ to let go. I don’t _want_ to let go…

He’s so _close,_ and it’s so _cold,_ and I’m shuddering _…_

His hands slide along my waist until they’re rested against my sides, then he squeezes. Lets go. Backs away from me. His lips quirk up in a smirk as he rakes a hand through his curls. (They’re a bit of a mess where he’s been lying on them.)

“C’mon, then,” he says. I don’t know what’s _happening_ here. What are we _doing_? 

We get in the truck. 

 

**SIMON**

Baz is nervous.

Well. He’s _always_ nervous, I guess, but I could feel him shaking when I hugged him. 

I wanted to _kiss_ him.

All I want to do is kiss him. 

It’s getting so hard not to. 

 

**BAZ**

I think about the way Simon held me. The way he pulled me to him, when he caught me. I think about it the whole bloody drive home.

I could feel his breath, hot in my ear. I could feel every inch of him pressed against me. 

I don’t know if I can _do_ this. 

_Light a match,_ I think. _Light a fucking match, Basilton._

We talk, on the way to the flat, and hold hands. We’ve held hands nearly the entire night. I suppose we do more hand-holding than we do talking, in truth. My mind keeps short-circuiting; I’m not sure what to _say_ anymore. _Please kiss me before I combust? Please don’t?_

_Please put your arms around me again…_

I can’t believe I actually fucking swooned. Not that it’s beneath me, but _still…_

I don’t have room in my mind to be embarrassed about it. I’m too busy thinking that this might be _it._ I’m thinking about the inevitability of this first kiss, right here in Simon Salisbury’s freezing deathtrap jalopy, and it’s amazing I’ve not hacked up the sandwich I had for dinner, truly. It’s astounding that I’m still on this fucking plane of existence. (I wish I weren’t…) 

It’s near midnight when we pull up to the flat. Snow stops under the streetlamp and shifts into park. I can still feel the warmth of his palm in mine.

Jesus Christ. 

This is _it,_ isn’t it? I don’t know the first thing about the etiquette of dating, but doesn’t the kissing usually happen at the drop-off? 

My stomach is tied in at least twenty sailor’s knots right now. I don’t think my bowels have ever been so disturbed. Which is a disturbing thing in itself, to think about when one is about to be kissed…

_Am_ I about to be kissed? 

“Well,” Simon says, breaking the thick, terrible silence. “Guess it’s too late to murder you, yeah?” I can feel him shifting in the seat next to me. Jesus _fuck._

_Look at him, Basilton._

I can’t. 

I’ve been holding my comforter in my lap since we left the country. I clench it in my fists.

_Bloody fucking_ look at him. _He took you out and showed you the stars, for Christ’s sake_ — _the least you can do is look at him!_

I look at him.

He’s staring at my mouth. Or maybe I’m imagining it. 

His lips are hanging open. (Mouth breather.) (I suppose I’m staring at his mouth, too.)

Oh, fucking hell, he’s going to kiss me. _Is_ he going to kiss me? _I don’t know what it looks like when you’re about to be kissed._ I’ve never kissed anyone before. I don’t know how. I don’t know _how..._

It can’t be _that_ hard, can it?

Fuck, we’re just staring at each other.

“Um,” he says. Jesus _Christ_ , I’m falling for a moron. A beautiful moron who showed me the stars, who held me in his arms, who _bought me a goddamn sandwich..._

_Do it_ , I think, and I’m not sure if I’m thinking at him or at myself. 

I decide I might as well toy with him. (This moment can’t get any more mortifying, anyway.) “Um,” I repeat, and raise an eyebrow. That gets him blushing, his moles scattered across a scarlet canvas. He’s exceedingly good looking.

_How_ am I on a date with someone so exceedingly good looking? And so exceedingly _thick_ , for God’s sake…

_So exceedingly lovely. So exceedingly_ good. 

I don’t have butterflies in my stomach. There's bloody pterodactyls in there. Pteranodons, maybe. (I suddenly can’t remember the difference. It seemed so _obvious,_ earlier…)

_Kiss him_ , I think, because I don’t know what we’re waiting for. 

No, maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to tell me he doesn’t like me, now that we’ve been on a proper date. Oh, fuck. 

Oh, _God._ How embarrassing. 

I want to look away, but I can’t. _Since when can’t I fucking look away? What the fuck is_ wrong _with me?_ (So many things…)

Finally he blinks and says, “Can we do this again?”

And just like that, the moment's broken.

“ _This_?” I say. “What's _this_ , Snow?” Oh, yes, I’m lisping. I suppose this moment _can_ get more mortifying. 

He starts rubbing the back of his neck. “I'd, um. Like to see you again. Outside of work, you know. Another date.”

So that _is_ how it is. He doesn't know if he likes me, now that we've been out.

I try to think of a scathing remark—anything to mask the disappointment—but I can't bring myself to lash out at him. Because I'm weak. Because he’s right _here,_ with his curls tousled and wrecked and his Adam’s apple bobbing at me the way it is…

Fuck _me._

“Well,” I say instead. “I suppose I'd like that.”

He lets out a heavy breath and grins. “Thank God,” he says, and giggles a bit as he reaches over and takes my hand. Oh. Maybe I've read him wrong.

How do you even _read_ someone? I don't fucking know. _I've never done this before._

“I'll call you, yeah? Or just text, I dunno. Or we can talk tomorrow, like. We'll figure it out. Your next day off isn’t for a while, yeah? I mean.” He looks embarrassed, suddenly. “When're you off?”

“Nicodemus has me on every night this week,” I say, with one eyebrow fully cocked. “The holiday, you know. Busy.” 

“Right.” He starts chewing the inside of his mouth. I know because I keep looking at his lips. “I mean, it could be after work one night, yeah? S'not like we go right to sleep.”

“I suppose we don't.” I swallow. “You know, we don't _have_ to go anywhere.” I look out his window at Fiona's building. Is that too intimate? Having him over? Perhaps it's too soon. It's probably too soon. Still, the words fall out of my mouth. Because I’m a bloody traitor to myself, apparently. An incredible disappointment. “Fiona's usually at Nicodemus’ place anyway.”

The light from the streetlamp coming through the windscreen betrays his blush. All that does is get me blushing, too. What’s he _thinking_? 

Fucking—

I scramble to clarify. “We could watch a film or—” ( _Sure, Basilton, because the last bloody film you watched went so crackingly well.)_

“Yeah!” Simon says, almost too quickly. “Yeah, that'd be ace. Could order take out, yeah? Or like, stop for a curry, I dunno. D’you like curry?”

My mouth is open, so I close it and nod. “Curry’s...lovely.” _Seriously?!_

Simon’s lips quirk up. He squeezes my hand and knocks my elbow with his. “Baz.”

“Yeah?”

“I had fun tonight, yeah? With you.”

I nod again, and swallow. “Yeah, Snow. Me too.”

We’re staring again. _I don’t know how to end this._

“Right,” Simon says.

“Yes.” I pull my hand from his and turn away, because I can hardly stand to look at him. It _hurts_ to look at him…

I think about surging over the centre console, about grabbing him by the back of his neck and pressing our mouths together. I think about it, and _think_ about it, and _think about it..._

I _can’t._

I think about the fact that my mouth would probably taste like the remnants of dinner…

I think about what it would _mean,_ if we kissed. _What would it mean?_

I wait a beat then, wait for him to do it. 

He doesn’t. 

I undo my belt. Open my door. “Let me know when you’re home,” I tell him. 

“Yeah,” he says. His face looks like it’s fallen, somehow. He’s still smiling, but it isn’t reaching his eyes…

“Goodnight, Snow,” I say. “Thanks for showing me the stars.” 

 

**SIMON**

Godbloody _damn it._

I should’ve kissed him. 

And also his coat’s still hanging in the back. 

 

**BAZ**

I’m running a bath when the text comes in. (Snow must not live too far away; he only just dropped me off.)

I’m shaking, still, and I’m entirely certain it has nothing to do with the weather. I need to relax, or at least _try_ to achieve some semblance of relaxation, whatever that feels like. I need to sink beneath the hot water and try not to think…

I can’t do that. I feel like I’ll never be able to stop thinking about him.

I check my mobile.

 

**Fit Idiot (12:03 am):** hey

**Baz (12:03 am):** Hey yourself, Snow.

 

**_Fit Idiot is typing…_** appears. Disappears. Appears again. 

 

**Fit Idiot (12:04 am):** look i just want to make aure you knoe I meant what I said

**Fit Idiot (12:05 am):** and I need to tell you

 

I wait a beat. Nothing. I wonder how many times I can feel on the verge of vomiting in a single day…

 

**Baz (12:06 am):** Need to tell me…?

**Fit Idiot (12:06 am):** can I call?

 

Oh, _fuck._

I'm staring at my mobile like I'm expecting it to do something rash. Fuck, I was right, earlier. He's decided he doesn't like me, and he wants to let me down easy. In typical Simon bloody gallant Salisbury fashion.

So much for getting takeout and watching a film and pretending to be happy boyfriends. Or whatever it was we were going to do. (Probably none of it; he just didn’t want to tell me face to face…)

My phone starts ringing. Apparently Simon doesn't even have the decency to _wait_ for me to tell him it's okay for him to call and break this off. Whatever _this_ is.

My heart is hammering against my ribcage. I will _not_ cry. Fuck, I _won't_.

I huff and answer. "Yes, Snow?"

"Hey, sorry. I figured it'd be okay—"

"You can't just assume that people want to talk to you, you know."

"Prat. Just listen, yeah?"

I cross my arms and lean against the wall, trying to look cool even though no one's here to see me. "I'm listening."

"I just. Well." I can practically hear him rubbing his neck from here. “You running water?” 

I close the door to the bathroom. “No.”

“I was about to take a hot shower too, actually. Try and thaw out, y’know.”

Oh, so he hasn’t just called to break things off. He’s called to taunt me with the thing I’ll _never have._

“Surely you haven’t called just to tell me about your plans to shower.”

"Right. Um.” He falls silent. (I swear I can hear him swallowing.)

“Snow,” I say. “If you’re calling to break things off, please do me a favour and _say it_ —”

“What?” 

He’s going to make me say it again, the actual bastard. “If you’re calling to break things off—”

“Baz. _What the fuck are you on about_?” 

“What are _you_ on about?” I say, which is moronic, but here we are. 

“ _Baz_ ,” he says again, and I completely hate how much I love hearing my name in his mouth. “You tosser. I called to tell you that I really, _really_ wanted to kiss you tonight. Obviously. What the fuck?” 

“What.” I can’t think of anything else to say. Also I think my heart has lodged itself somewhere inside my trachea…

“ _I wanted to kiss you,_ ” he repeats. “A _lot._ ” 

“Oh.” Honestly, _oh._ I’m bloody well _tired_ of Simon Salisbury rendering me speechless.

“Why would you even think—? Oh, is this your brain being an arsehole?” 

I don’t know what to say to that.

“ _Baz._ ” _Fuck,_ he keeps saying my bloody name and I’m so _weak._ Weak in the knees, a complete cliché. _“_ I held you in my arms!” 

“Well-spotted!” I say, because _I don’t know what to say_ and _fuck,_ I’m lisping again. Jesus H. Christ on a fucking bike...

“Of _course_ I don’t want to break things off, you wanker!” 

“Okay!” I’ve sat on the sofa at some point, I’m not sure when. I don’t even remember walking to the sitting room. My heart’s left my trachea to pound in my ears. “Why didn’t you?”

“What?”

“ _Why didn’t you kiss me, then, you numpty?”_ I hiss. Lisp. _Slur._ I sound like a complete pillock.

“I didn’t want to go too fast for you—”

“How is weeks of talking and a six-hour first date _too fast_?” 

“I don’t know!” 

Neither of us says anything to that. I don’t think I’m calm enough for relief to rush through me in waves yet…

“Well,” Simon says. I can practically picture him yanking at his curls from here. “I wanted to kiss you. I _still_ want to kiss you. So. Like. _Fuck,_ do you even realize how much? I guess not, I mean. Did you want me to?” 

“Did I want you to what.”

“Oh my _God._ Did you want me to _kiss you_?” 

“Of course not. Why would I want that?”

“Really—?”

“ _No,_ not _really._ ” 

“Give me something a little more concrete to work with here, Baz. Fuck—” _God,_ my name in his mouth…

“ _Yes,_ ” I say, shutting my eyes. It falls out of me in a whirlwind of strung-together sounds. “ _Fuck._ ” 

“Right,” Simon says.

“Right,” I say. 

“Good, then,” he says.

“Yes.” 

“Okay. Okay, yeah.” 

“ _Simon_.” 

“What?” He bloody well _chuckles._ “I’m _happy_.” 

Fuck, I am, too, I realize. Is _this_ what it’s like to be happy? 

Not that I’ve _never_ been happy; but this is…

_Something else._

“So am I,” I say. 

“Okay,” Simon says. I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Okay.” 

“Um—”

“You should have your shower, Snow,” I tell him. _Fuck,_ my bathtub’s probably overflowing by now. “You’re barely getting much sleep tonight as it is—”

“I doubt I’ll sleep at all, really. I.” He breathes in, huffs. “I _meant_ it, what I said. Tonight was ace. And. Fuck, I _like_ you, Baz. So much. Just—” 

“ _Snow…_ ” I say. He’s making me nervous. He’s making my traitorous heart flutter in my chest. “You need to go, or you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.” 

“Okay, okay. Yeah.” 

I’m glad I can’t see him smiling right now. If I could see him, I’d melt. I’d never get up again. 

“Goodnight, Snow,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“‘Night, Baz,” he says.

I’m not sure which of us hangs up first.  

I don’t know what I’m thinking. I don’t know what I’m _feeling…_

I remember my bath and make it in time to turn off the tap before it overflows. (It’s close enough, nearly spilling over the top. I have to pull the drain to let some out.) 

_Simon Salisbury wants to kiss me,_ I think as I strip out of my clothes. _I want to kiss him. I want so much…_

My mobile vibrates against the counter just as I’m making to step into the bath. I check it; I can’t help myself.

 

**Fit Idiot (12:19 am):** hey

**Fit Idiot (12:19 am):** 🦖🦖🦖

**Fit Idiot (12:20 am):** waht kind of music do you like? idk why we havent talke about it before

**Fit Idiot (12:20 am):** anywua

**Fit Idiot (12:20 am):** ive been listening to these guys lately

**Fit Idiot (12:20 am):** i'm not great with words but they are so

**Fit Idiot (12:21 am):** this song reminds me of you

**Fit Idiot (12:21 am):**  [Manta Rays by Ludo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDSRN1StLps)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT February 2020:  
> this chapter now has one of the scenes illustrated by the lovely vkelleyart! see the truck bed scene [here](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/190728434887/bless).
> 
>  
> 
> **Yes, I’m a shit. I’m not terribly sorry about it.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Also I’m going to mention some stuff from WS really quick; nothing too spoilery, but I have to say this (proceed at your own risk if you've not read the book):**
> 
>  
> 
> **I’ve had this truck bed stargazing scene planned for MONTHS now, & then Rainbow comes at me with chapter 41??? I mean??? I was the last of our group to finish the book during the trip because I failed to sleep on my red-eye (because I took a red-eye like an actual dumbass) & all I knew was that there was a TRUCK & I’m over here flailing internally & externally because thanks, I feel validated. I believe [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) wanted to wake me in the middle of the night when she read that bit, & I thank her for letting me to continue to sleep like the dead. (Side note: GOD, chapter 41 though, amiright? Simon, you poetic fuck. Slay me.)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shock, Snow, Scones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. I sure hope you like this chapter, because it was...a bit of a challenge to write! I'm feeling more than a little nervous about posting this one, I'll just throw that out there. We're all friends here, right? I can tell y'all that I'm NERVOUS. OKAY. 
> 
> Thanks as always to [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) & [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast). Y'all had to listen to me freak the fuck out about logistics more times than I can count, & for that I applaud & bow down to you. Also this goddamn fish & chips scene that I wanted to set on fire sooooooooooooooooo many times. Thanks for listening to me yell about it.

**Fit Idiot (11:36 am):**  

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/48937319797/in/dateposted-public/)

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:40 am):** What the actual fuck, Snow?

 **Fit Idiot (11:41 am):** i am sonfucking tired lmao

 **Fit Idiot (11:41 am):** worth it tho

 

* * *

 

 

**BAZ**

I’m sat in our normal booth—Dev’s and Niall’s and mine—because my idiot cousin has once again called us to convene for _emergency fish and chips._

I really need him to stop saying that, to _stop_ using the word _emergency._ But also it’s barely affected me at all today. I’ve been too busy reminiscing about my evening with Simon to care much about Dev’s preposterous, triggering word choice. 

I doubt anything could bring me down right now.

I’ve been thinking about Snow all morning—of _course_ I have. Him and his perfect date. Dinosaurs. Stars. The way he wrapped his arms around me in the back of his truck. The way he caught me around the waist when I nearly fell out of the godforsaken thing. Our conversation after he dropped me off. 

The fact that Simon Salisbury wants to kiss me. That I want to kiss _him._

The fact that I very well might be falling in _love_.

I might be getting ahead of myself; it wouldn’t surprise me. 

He was just so _warm_ , and I keep thinking about how it might feel to have his mouth on mine. Not that it’s the first time I’ve thought about it; far from it. But it’s something that’s in my _reach,_ now. 

 _I really wanted to kiss you tonight,_ he said. 

I’ve been playing that bloody song he sent me practically on repeat, too, because I’m a fucking cliché. There’re so many lyrics in that song that keep _sticking,_ but the one…

_I’m falling slow for you…_

Well. That just makes me think that I’m not the only one who’s possibly—potentially—thinking about _love._

Fuck, I’ve gone soft. I don’t know when I allowed this to happen.

I’m also not completely sure where Dev and Niall are; we were supposed to meet at one o’clock and it’s already five after. It’s not like either of them to be late for fish and chips. 

I’ve barely heard from either of them today, really, which was a little disconcerting, I suppose. I was expecting to wake up to a barrage of texts from Dev. I’d braced myself for impact, I’d readied myself with scathing responses to his presumed inquiries about my sex life. 

Instead I got _EMERGENCY FISH & CHIPS. _All caps. I could practically hear him shouting. 

I’ve no doubt he’ll question me once he’s here—once they’re _both_ here. He probably wants to embarrass me in public some more; it’s practically his life’s endeavor—

Ah. There they are now. They must’ve driven together; either that or they had impeccably matched timing. They do an odd sort of _dance_ at the door—like they can’t decide who’s going to open it; it’s frustrating to watch, even from here—then Niall holds it and follows Dev into the restaurant. 

They spot me and head my way, and I can’t help but think that something’s... _off._ Strange. They’re not existing in space the way they normally do, they’re not moving _in tandem_ as well as they normally would. They’re... _clunky_.

“You didn’t get your food,” Dev says. He’s stood next to the table, hands in his pockets. Niall’s hands are in his own pockets, too, and he’s gracing me with his best soft smile. He may very well be blushing. ( _Is_ he blushing? It’s hard to tell in this weather.)

My eyes are narrowed at the pair of them; I can’t seem to help it. “No. You weren’t here yet—”

“We’ll get it, then,” Dev says. “The usual?” 

The _usual_? 

I raise an eyebrow at him in answer—we all get the exact same meal, every single time we come here—and they both move away towards the counter. They’re nearly tripping over each other even though they aren’t walking too close. It’s...bizarre and impressive at the same time. 

I worry they’ll drop our food on their way back to the table, honestly. I’m actually hungry today; it’d be a pity to waste a good meal to their stupidity. 

They don’t drop it. 

Instead, Niall hands me my basket and a glass of Coke, and then I have to watch the two of them try to navigate sliding into the other side of the booth. Which has never been a problem. 

I wonder if I’ve been transported to some sort of alternate universe where everything happens in a sort of odd slow-motion. I’m also half-convinced that these two are mere copies of my friends who haven’t quite been taught how to act yet. 

Maybe I’m simply still riding the post-first date high. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Our table is uncharacteristically silent as we start dressing our food. Dev’s mouth would typically be running a mile per minute by now. 

Maybe this is a dream, like in films. You don’t even realize you’re _in_ a dream at first, until things start to seem muddy. Maybe this is like bloody _Inception…_

I can’t recall a single instance where _I’ve_ had to break a silence with these two. 

I’m dripping vinegar onto my fish when I finally say, “I expected more texts from you this morning.” 

Dev looks up at me, his mouth full of half-chewed chip. “What?” 

“Tell us about your date,” Niall cuts in. 

Dev’s face lights up then. Ah, yes. Familiar territory. “Fucking hell! Right. _Please_ tell me you fucked.”

Niall elbows Dev in the ribcage. Finally an air of _normalcy_ , for Christ’s sake…

I give Dev my best exasperated _you’re a moron_ look. 

He ignores it. “It was all a surprise, wasn’t it?” he pushes. “He wouldn’t even tell _me_ when I asked—”

“No, because you can’t keep anything to yourself. At all.” I think about remarking on the fact that I know he texted Simon about the whole situation with Niall—after I expressly asked him not to—and I _almost_ do, in a veiled sort of way. But I’m not that mean. And also I suppose I _didn’t_ expressly ask him not to. I only told him _I_ needed time before I could mention it to Simon. I didn’t account for Dev seeking Simon out himself. (I _should’ve_ done; I should’ve known he’d be an impatient idiot about the whole thing…)

“Your first date _,_ ” Niall says. “Your _first_ first date. You look like it went well.”

“Do I?” 

“You’re practically beaming.”

I check my face and realize that _fuck,_ he’s _right._ I consider trying to rearrange my features into something more _bored,_ but my lips end up quirking up instead. I can’t help it; it’s disgusting. 

“ _So_?” Dev prods, just as Niall says, “ _How was it?_ ” 

“He was lovely,” I say, truthfully.

The look Dev gives me is practically the smirk emoji. 

I roll my eyes. “Not like that, you twit.” 

He quite literally slams his fist on the table. “ _Give us details._ ” 

I do. 

I tell them how Snow took me to the museum. (Dev giggles and says, “ _If that’s not the way to get in your pants, I don’t know what is._ ” Niall manages to shut him up with a look.) I tell them about dinner, and how we drove out to the country in the dark. I tell them about lying in the truck and star-gazing with Snow, about how he showed me the constellations. 

I don’t tell them how it _felt_ to be so close to him, how it felt to hear his heartbeat in my ear. I don’t tell them how I wanted Simon to take my chin in his hand and tilt my face to meet his. (I don’t tell them how I _didn’t_ want that.) I don’t tell them how good it felt to finally let Simon _hold_ me…

I certainly don’t tell them about how I nearly fell out of the truck. How Simon caught me. How I thought— _hoped,_ even—that he might kiss me then. 

I tell them about the chill of the night instead, about the beauty of the moon and the stars. (I leave out how lovely it was to see the lights from the sky shining in Simon’s curls, his eyes.) 

“And?” Dev raises an eyebrow suggestively. Niall elbows him in the ribs.

“And then he drove me home.”

His other eyebrow lifts, too. “And?”

“And then we talked some.” 

“ _And_?” He’s leaning so close, he nearly dips his shirt in his peas. 

I huff. “And _what_.” 

“ _You know bloody well what._ ” 

I do. Of course I do, and honestly I’m surprised he’s held off this long.

“We didn’t kiss, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dev’s brown eyes narrow at me as he straightens up and slouches back in the booth. They’re still narrowed at me as he crosses his arms. Yes, _this_ is the sort of behaviour I’ve been expecting. I almost wish he’d go back to being strange. “You having a laugh?” 

I bloody well wish I were. Sort of. Not _really._

“I speak truth from my virgin lips,” I say.

Dev groans. “ _Jesus._ ”

“ _What._ ”

Dev’s picked his spoon back up and started making a racket against the table with it. I’m about to reach over and snatch it away from him. “The suspense is _killing_ me; what the fuck?!” 

“Need I remind you that I’m not here to please _you_ ? I’m not dating to please _you_ —”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Niall says, calm as usual. He sets a hand overtop Dev’s where my cousin is currently madly tapping his spoon. The tapping stops. “Everyone moves at their own pace.”

“Right. Right. Yeah.” Dev glances at Niall’s hand. It’s still resting on top of his. I can only imagine what’s going through his head at the moment. (If it were me in that situation with Snow, I’d be a wreck.) (Well. Not anymore.) I almost feel sorry for him. 

Niall sighs. “Speaking of which—” 

“What, _now_?” Dev’s torn his eyes away from their hands to give Niall his best affronted look. His lip’s curled up and everything. 

Niall’s eyes roll and he sighs again. “When would you rather?” 

“I was thinking—I dunno—maybe we’d actually finish eating first?”

I’ve no idea what they’re on about. “I’m sorry; is there an argument I’ve missed out on?” I ask. 

They just look at each other like they’re having some sort of silent conversation. It’s not _unusual,_ exactly; they’ve always known each other well enough to communicate in _looks_ when they need. Just not usually in front of _me._ (Unless of course they’re communicating _about_ me.) 

Niall’s hand is still resting on top of Dev’s...

Dev huffs and pulls his hand away. “ _Fine._ ” He turns his gaze to me, waits a beat, fiddles with his straw. Then, "You may recall that I've recently discovered a dormant sexual interest in the d."

Niall’s eyes fall closed, like he can’t believe that _this_ is the moron he’s saddled himself with in this booth. 

It’s not the look of someone who’s particularly _surprised_ to hear that his best friend is considerably less straight than previously presumed. 

Niall _knows_. Dev’s told him, within a matter of days after he figured it out himself. Fuck, how long did it take _me_ to tell them I’m gay? Months? A year? So much from that time is clouded in my memory, but it sure as hell took me longer than a few bloody _days_ …

I start playing with my straw, too, letting the ice clink around in my glass. "Yes…"

"Well I've enlightened Niall."

"I can see that,” I say, because it’s more obvious with every passing second that Niall _knows._ Probably not about Dev’s feelings for _him,_ but definitely about the queerness. Dev must’ve told him last night, or this morning, maybe. “Good. Yes—"

"He's been very _supportive._ "

I nod at Niall. "Good man. I'd expect nothing less."

"So _supportive—_ " Dev’s eyes go big for emphasis, and—

"Jesus Christ," Niall says. "We kissed."

I wait a beat. Blink. Then, "Pardon?"

Dev sighs, good and heavy. "We went out last night. To the pub, yeah?”

“Where, as he said, he _enlightened_ me,” Niall says. 

Dev tilts his head back and forth like he’s thinking on what to say, which is completely out of character for him, honestly. “I may have let it slip that I was interested in this _particular_ d. Not _just_ for his d.” He glances at Niall then. He’s grinning. “Actually I think I'd fancy Niall just as well if he were a girl, wouldn't I?"

"Which I decidedly am _not,_ thank you _—_ "

Dev waves a hand at him. "The point is, is that I'm sat there with my tongue halfway down his throat _—_ "

" _Dev—_ "

"I'm sat there with my tongue halfway down his throat when it comes to me. I'm _pansexual._ I think. I mean, that's what I'm going with. And also we're boyfs now."

I take one deep breath while I suck on my teeth. "You're having me on, the pair of you."

Niall sighs. "Honestly, it'd be easier if we were."

"You're serious."

"As a heart attack."

"You," I point at Niall. "Want to go out with _him_?" I point at Dev, who looks dreadfully affronted.

"Ex _cuse_ me? I'll have you know I've never had any complaints _—_ "

"You use too much tongue," Niall deadpans, but still gently, somehow. _Lovingly._ "I told you that last night."

"I was _enthused_ ,” Dev says, rolling his eyes. He slumps back in the booth and crosses his arms. “Won't happen again."

I’m looking between them so quickly I’m about to strain my eyes. Or give myself whiplash. Finally I settle on Niall. “But you’re not—”

“Gay?” Niall supplies. “No. Though obviously not straight, either.” 

I shake my head. “But—”

He just shrugs at me. "Sometimes you don't know the truth of something till it's staring you right in the face."

Dev grins wider at him. "Or until it has its tongue in your mouth _—_ "

"That part _did_ help, I'll grant you that."

Fucking _hell._ Obviously this isn't some sort of race, but I can't help but feel put out.

“Okay.” I suck on my teeth for a second and take a deep breath. Jesus _fuck,_ this is a lot to wrap my head around. Wrapping my head around _Dev_ was enough; I’ve not even managed _that_ yet, truthfully. Now _this_? “Okay,” I say again. “So you’re. Have _you_ decided on a label yet, or—?”

“No,” Niall says. “I’ll sort it. It’s. Well, it’s not terribly important right now.” 

_Not terribly important?_

“Okay. Let me just ask you this: Are you alright? Because I’d honestly question the state of mind of _anyone_ who decided it’s a good idea to date _Dev_ —”

“Oh, piss off!” Dev says. “You’re just immune to my charms because we’re family—”

“Your _charms_?!” 

He gestures at Niall. "I wined and dined him!"

Niall scoffs. "You bought me a _pint_ and a basket of chips _—_ "

"Exactly! And I do lovely things with my mouth.”

“Sure,” Niall agrees. He crosses his arms and sits back, looking smug. “Once you rein in the tongue.”

“Again, I’d had a _drink_ , and I was _ecstatic._ Can you blame a bloke for getting a little over-excited? I mean, _look at you_ —”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Niall cuts him off. “Baz.” (I barely hear him; my brain’s still stuck on Dev and Niall _snogging._ It’s absolutely fucking absurd.) “Obviously you’re the first person we’re telling. And we wanted to ask if there’s any boundaries you want to set—”

“Surely that’s _your_ idea,” I say. I jerk my head towards Dev. “Not his.”

Dev just rolls his eyes at me. "Look, don't be cross with _us_ just because you and your bloke haven't snogged yet. Your relationship is barely _beginning._ What my darling Niall and I have's been brewing since primary _—_ " 

I snort.

“ _—_ and I don’t want to offend your virgin eyes by spontaneously ravishing Niall in front of you. But I will, if you don’t tell me not to. _Look at him._ ” 

“Frankly I’d prefer that you _didn’t,_ ” Niall says. 

“Didn’t hear you complaining last night—”

“ _Wait,_ ” I say. “Wait, you said you went to the pub. Did you just...snog right there?” 

Niall blushes and looks away. Dev shrugs and says, “The first time, yeah.” 

I keep myself from asking, _“Are you sure you aren’t having me on?”_ because clearly they’re not. It’s just so incredibly _ridiculous…_

And then it hits me. Bleeding hell, what if this whole thing doesn’t work out, this... _thing_ that’s going on between them? What if they break up and can’t stay friends? (Break _up_ ?! Jesus fucking Christ, they’re _dating._ ) Where does that leave _me_?

That might be selfish, but seriously _, where would that leave me?_

“ _You’re catastrophizing, Basil._ ” That’s what my therapists would say. 

“ _I’m preparing for a realistic and precarious future. A natural disaster."_ I said that to my last therapist once. She told me I had a good sense of humour. 

And then I get to thinking, _How long do I_ really _have to enjoy my time with Simon before he decides it’s too much?_

“Baz?” Niall. 

“Hm?” I’m tasting vinegar. I’m tasting _me…_

I lower my hand from my mouth and start playing with my straw again. 

 

**SIMON**

I decide to wait for Baz after my shift. 

There’s only thirty minutes between the end of mine and the start of his, anyway, and he always gets here a little early. 

I sit in the break room for a bit to pass the time. Then I throw my apron in the laundry, grab my coat and all my things, and sneak back behind the counter to make Baz a drink. Then I sit on a bench outside the shop to wait. 

I’m so knackered I could probably fall asleep right here if I let myself. Probably I’ll at least take a nap once I’m home. I could've _been_ home already, but I want to see Baz. It’s almost like I _need_ to. (Maybe I do.) 

He’s all I’ve thought about all day. I mean, that and the fact that I’m knackered. Then again, I was able to at least have a few coffees throughout my shift to fix _that_. So I guess I’ve mostly just thought about Baz.

How could I _not_? 

He’s just so lovely. So smart. Funny, in that _sarcastic arsehole_ sort of way. (I like it.) And sexy. _So fucking sexy..._

I kept imagining my hands at his waist, like when I caught him last night after he nearly fell out of my truck. (Bloody adorable, that.) It was so _cold_ outside, but he was so warm, even through the fabric of his shirt. I could feel his muscles jumping and flexing beneath my palms...

I need to see him. I’ll pull him in for a hug once he’s here, and give him his drink. 

I just want to kiss him, but I’m not having our first kiss in the Nico’s carpark. I suppose we'll have our first kiss inside his flat…

Which I’ve also been thinking about. A lot. 

Surprised the hell out of me, when he suggested it. But then again maybe it shouldn't've. He _does_ like his peace and quiet. And if we’re at his flat, it won’t even be cold. 

I don’t know when we’ll even get the chance to do it. To have our date, I mean. We’re working the rest of the week, and probably we’d be knackered if we did it after closing. I’m hoping we’ll have some time off together next week, but the schedule doesn’t come out for a few more days, and I’ve already asked to trade once. I don’t know how many times it’s okay to ask for time off for a date. I’ve never had a job before…

I just really, _really_ need to kiss him before Christmas. Which doesn't lend me much time. But also it feels like it's _so far away…_

And also someone's gone and hung mistletoe in the break room. And in the cafe. And in the shop. And I know it's a joke, but I'll have no idea what to do if we get stuck under it and haven't actually kissed yet.

I'm thinking on that—thinking on how long it'll be before I actually get to kiss Baz—when I see the wine-coloured Jaguar pull into the carpark. Just the sight of it makes my stomach flip; I think my heart's even beating double-time.

I watch him from far-off, watch him get out of the car (so fucking gracefully, of _course_ ). He's wearing that same grey overcoat he wore yesterday, and his dark hair's pulled back…

It makes me want to tuck the stray strands behind his ear, even from this far away.

I wait until he beeps his car locked to get up and start towards him. He's looking down at his mobile, so he hasn't spotted me yet. (I don't think.) I wonder if he's looking for a text from me, but probably that's just wishful thinking on my part. (Or not…)

I manage to cross the street before he looks up and sees me. He startles a bit, which is fair (and fucking adorable).

He brushes one side of his overcoat away as he reaches behind himself to pocket his mobile. I don't know why it looks so erotic. (Probably because _everything_ Baz does is erotic.)

"Hey," I say. I'm already grinning at him; I can't help it.

"Snow," he says as he comes to a stop. 

I square myself in front of him. "Wanted to see you before I went home," I tell him.

His eyes settle on the cup in my hand. "Aren't you tired—?"

I nod. "Oh yeah, I'm wrecked." I offer him the coffee. (I’ve written _Hot Swot_ on the side; I wonder how long it’ll take him to notice.) "Still wanted to see you."

He blushes (or maybe his cheeks are just cold) and takes the cup. His fingertips are cold where they touch mine. 

“I couldn’t give you as much cream as usual; wanted to put a lid on. To keep it warm, y’know. Um.” Can I hug him now? I’ve still not figured out the best _times_ to do things. (Honestly I’ve found that _just doing them_ seems to work best. Except maybe that time at the cinema, but I think we’re both trying to exclude that from the equation...) “Y’alright?” I ask, because I’m suddenly noticing that he looks...what? I don’t know, just…

“Yeah.” He gives his head a shake and his eyebrows lift. “I just had a rather strange lunch with Dev and Niall, is all.” 

“How’s that—?” 

“It would seem that they’re dating. That they’ve sorted it all out. That, _apparently,_ Dev can convince anyone of anything if he uses his mouth just right, which I _don’t_ want to think about—so of course I _am_ —and…” He huffs. “Christ, it’s done nothing for his ego.” 

I tilt my head. “You serious?” Is he bloody _serious?_ Because he’s making it sound like they’ve already _kissed,_ which is completely unfair. I mean... _Baz and I haven’t even kissed yet._

“Completely,” Baz sighs, then lifts his drink to his lips and takes a sip. “Hm. This is good, Snow; thank you.” 

 _That_ makes me warm up from the inside. I don’t think Baz has ever told me whether my coffees are _good._ And he rarely thanks me for anything at all. (I don’t think he’s rude. I think he wants nobody to know how completely soft he is, underneath it all.) (I think he’s starting to let me see it…)

I’m grinning at him, now. I can’t help it. “I know you’ve got to head in—”

“Yes.” His eyes land somewhere around the top fastener on my duffle coat. “Duty calls…” 

I shrug. “C’mere.”

Baz’s eyes lift to mine and he cocks an eyebrow at me.

I roll my eyes at him. “Give us a hug, then. Bloody cold out here.” 

I think about taking him by the hips and pulling him to me. I don’t. I reach for him and take him by the waist instead (he’s close enough for me to do that). I feel him tense beneath my touch, and for a second I think maybe _he_ thinks I mean to kiss him. (I _don’t._ I mean, I’d love to, but I don’t. Not here. Not for the first time.) (I get to thinking that someday we might get to have a lot of kisses right here in this carpark. Hellos. Goodbyes. Something deeper after close when no one else is around to see...) I let my hands slip along his jumper, along the dip of his waist until my arms are fully around him. Then I touch my cheek to his and he relaxes—lets out a heavy breath and everything. 

I could get used to this, I think—having Baz Pitch melt against me. 

I’ve never hugged him _beneath_ his coat before, but it was hanging open, and he was _here,_ and after last night, well. I guess I feel like it’s _fine,_ now. 

It’s _so_ fine. Better than. 

My palms are at his back, and he’s so _warm_ , and he’s trying to hug me with one arm, trying not to spill Pumpkin Mocha Breve all over me (I wouldn’t mind if he did). I’m feeling _hot_ all over, not just warm, now; every inch of me is pressed against every inch of him, it feels like. It feels so _good_ …

I nudge his face with mine, and turn my head—I can’t help it. I press my lips into his cheek—gentle but firm—and hold them there. His face is cool against my lips, and I want to warm him up. He smells so lovely...

It’s over too soon, even though I’m the one kissing him. I want to keep on, but he’s got work, and if I hold him here much longer I’ll give in. I’ll turn my head some more until our lips brush together. 

I push my mouth towards his ear instead. “Should’ve given you that last night,” I say. 

Baz lets out another heavy breath, a shaky one. I think he swallows, too. 

I knock his head with mine, just softly. Then I make myself let go of him. I make myself step back. 

“Text me tonight?” I say.

Baz just nods. 

Fuck, but he’s pretty when he blushes.

 

* * *

 

**Thursday, 17th December, 2015**

 

 **Voice of Reason (3:54 pm):** Hey, B. Not sure when you’ll get this since you’re at work. Just want to check in and make sure everything’s okay

 **Voice of Reason (3:55 pm):** Also don’t let Dev get to you about the Simon stuff. He just wants to see you happy is all

 **B. (4:03 pm):** Dev is a menace and I implore you to rein him in. You’ve always had more luck with him than I have.

 **B. (4:04 pm):** And then some, apparently. 

 **Voice of Reason (4:04 pm):** I do what I can but you know as well as I do that he’s a bloody whirlwind 

 **Voice of Reason (4:05 pm):** Are you alright with it? I wasn’t sure at lunch today

 **B. (4:13 pm):** I’m perfectly fine. 

 **B. (4:14 pm):** And what I want doesn’t matter, in any case. The two of you need to do what makes you happy.

 **Voice of Reason (4:15 pm):** Of course what you want matters

 **Voice of Reason (4:15 pm):** You’re our best mate

 **B. (4:21 pm):** And what I want is for you to be happy.

 **B. (4:21 pm):** So there you have it.

 **Voice of Reason (4:22 pm):** That means a lot. Really

 **B.** **(4:25 pm):** Also, the pair of you have me gobsmacked. Lately I seem to be surrounded by blokes who apparently aren’t even aware they’re attracted to other blokes. How is that? Was kissing Dev really the great revelation?

 **Voice of Reason (4:26 pm):** Oh god do you think I knew and didn’t tell you? 

 **Voice of Reason (4:27 pm):** You know I wouldn’t

 **B. (4:27 pm):** I’m starting to feel like I’m living in some overtly queer alternate dimension, which is all well and good in theory but still making me slightly dubious. Simon was one thing. Then Dev. He just told me about this a few days ago, and the next thing I know you’re dating?

 **Voice of Reason (4:29 pm):** Yeah I see why you might be confused, when you put it that way

 **Voice of Reason (4:29 pm):** I suppose I’ve really not been paying attention? But when he kissed me things started making a lot more sense? 

 **Voice of Reason (4:30 pm):** Fuck that sounds like some fairytale bullshit but do you understand what I mean

 **Voice of Reason (4:31 pm):** Like oh, I suppose that explains why I’d get hacked off sometimes when he’d brag about his conquests, that sort of thing

 **Voice of Reason (4:31 pm):** Does that make sense

 **B. (4:35 pm):** I think so, and I’m sorry it was Dev who had to be the catalyst for your queer awakening. 

 **B. (4:36 pm):** Please tell me it’s still alright to take the mickey out of him. I don’t think I can properly function otherwise.

 **Voice of Reason (4:37 pm):** Ha! By all means, please do

 **Voice of Reason (4:37 pm):** He bloody well deserves it

 **B. (4:45 pm):** Thank fuck for that.

 **B. (4:53 pm):** Still.

 **B. (4:54 pm):** I feel like I don't even know the two of you. It's making me ill at ease.

 **Voice of Reason (4:57 pm):** I don't think it's you who doesn't know us

 **Voice of Reason (4:58 pm):** It's us who didn't know us

 **B. (5:03 pm):** Ah, yes. Drown me in your logic. It's the reassurance I crave.

 **Voice of Reason (5:04 pm):** Not too much

 **Voice of Reason (5:04 pm):** Wouldn't want you getting complacent

 **B. (5:10 pm):** Touché.

 

*******

 

 **Baz (6:02 pm):** Don't think you're going to get away with this mistletoe stunt you've pulled, you meddling miscreant. 

 **Baz (6:02 pm):** Don't think for a second that I won't scoop out your eyes and feed them to you at Christmas dinner.

 **Imbecilic Relation (6:04 pm):** 1st of all I am not a fan of your accusatory tone & also ew, you nasty

 **Imbecilic Relation (6:04 pm):** & also this is a 2 part answer

 **Imbecilic Relation (6:04 pm):** so 1. it was my brilliant idea

 **Imbecilic Relation (6:05 pm):** 2\. if you think everyone at the shop doesn't know what's going on between you & salisbury your fucking delusional, so yes I had help

 **Imbecilic Relation (6:05 pm):** your welcome

 **Voice of Reason (6:05 pm):** What’ve you done now then?

 **Baz (6:06 pm):** Dev has continued his endeavor of shaving years from my life by making me bear witness to his idiocy. 

 **Voice of Reason (6:06 pm):** Ah.

 **Imbecilic Relation (6:06 pm):** lmao i hung mistletoe all over the fucking shop & literally everyone helped so basically you’ve got a bunch of coworkers who just want you to get laid. You should practise being a little more gracious

 **Baz (6:07 pm):** My life is a cosmic joke that began the day you were born. 

 **Imbecilic Relation (6:07 pm):** istg you get more dramatic the longer your a virgin

 

*******

 

 **Fit Idiot (6:42 pm):** omg

 **Fit Idiot (6:42 pm):** omg ok fisrt off i hope your shifts going ok bc it was a madhouse in there this morning

 **Fit Idiot (6:43 pm):** anyway i jsut woke up from a nap and i just relaized i didnt get a photo of you in front of the gd dinosaur!!!!!

 **Fit Idiot (6:43 pm):** i would've loved that

 **Fit Idiot (6:43 pm):** a photo of us with the 🦖

 **Fit Idiot (6:44 pm):** or jsut you with it

 **Fit Idiot (6:44 pm):** damn ot

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:04 pm):** Clearly you were too preoccupied with trying to weasel your hand into mine.

 **Fit Idiot (7:06 pm):** oh dont talk liek you dont bloody well LOVE holding my hand

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:07 am):** I don’t think I’ve seen this conceited side of you before, Snow.

 **Fit Idiot (7:07 pm):** 🙄🙄🙄

 **Fit Idiot (7:07 pm):** i mean your not wrong

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:07 pm):** You’re.

 **Fit Idiot (7:08 pm):** i was distracted

 **Fit Idiot (7:08 pm):** your very distracting

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:08 pm):** You’re.

 **Fit Idiot (7:08 pm):** stfu

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:09 pm):** I can’t shut up if I’m not making any sounds, Snow. This isn’t a verbal conversation. 

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:09 pm):** And we’ll still have a chance to get a photo.

 **Fit Idiot (7:09 pm):** oh?

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (7:10 pm):** I suppose you’ll just have to take me back to the museum another time.

 **Fit Idiot (7:10 pm):** 😏😏😏

 

* * *

 

**Friday, 18th December, 2015**

 

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:14 am):** baaaaaaaz

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:26 am):** baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaz

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:33 am):** baZZzzzz

 **Voice of Reason (8:35 am):** He’s probably sleeping

**Imbecilic Relation (8:36 am): 🙄🙄🙄**

**Imbecilic Relation (8:36 am):** i know that sugarplum

 **Voice of Reason (8:36 am):** Dev **.**

 **Voice of Reason (8:36 am):** No

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:37 am):** i just wanted to tell him i’m here opening with prince charming & he’s got the goofiest fcking smile on his face so i think i know who he’s thinking abouttttt

**Imbecilic Relation (8:37 am): 😏😏😏**

**Imbecilic Relation (8:37 am):** you want me to call you something else darling 😏

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:38 am):** puddin pop 😘

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:38 am):** OH OH OH

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:38 am):** daddy

 **Voice of Reason (8:38 am):** For fuck’s sake, NIALL will work just fine

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:38 am):** omfgg MEAT POPSICLE

 **Voice of Reason (8:39 am):** …………..

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/48920704252/in/dateposted-public/)

**Baz (8:40 am):** I hate everything about this. 

 

*******

 

 **Fit Idiot (11:54 pm):** whered you grow up

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:56 pm):** You’re up late, Snow.

 **Fit Idiot (11:57 pm):** wanted to talk to you once you were off work

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:57 pm):** You opened this morning. Aren’t you tired?

 **Fit Idiot (11:57 pm):** yep

 **Fit Idiot (11:58 pm):** but whered you grow up

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:58 pm):** Is this from a new list, or are you asking this on your own accord? 

 **Fit Idiot (11:58 pm):** new list

 **Fit Idiot (11:58 pm):** just cant believe we havent talked about it

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:00 am):** I grew up in Hampshire. Dev and Niall, too. Came here for uni.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:00 am):** You?

 **Fit Idiot (12:01 am):** mum and ive always been here

 **Fit Idiot (12:01 am):** but that explaisn why i never saw you in secondray

 **Fit Idiot (12:01 am):** i wouldve remembered you

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:01 am):** Sure, Snow. 

 **Fit Idiot (12:02 am):** i wouldve!

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:05 am):** I’m about to drive home. You should get some sleep. 

 **Fit Idiot (12:05 am):** ill sleep once your home

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:06 am):** You’re.

 **Fit Idiot (12:06 am):** yeah whatever

 **Fit Idiot (12:06 am):** just text me when you get there

 **Fit Idiot (12:06 am):** its late

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:06 am):** Alright.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:18 am):** I’m home, Snow.

 **Fit Idiot (12:18 am):** good

 **Fit Idiot (12:19 am):** night baz

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:19 am):** Goodnight.

 

* * *

 

 

**Saturday, 19th December, 2015**

 

 **Fit Idiot (10:51 am):** new schedules up 👀

 **Fit Idiot (10:52 am):** you have a mid wedbsday and i open so maybe after your shift we could have our date yeah?

 **Fit Idiot (10:52 am):** if you still want to i mean

 **Fit Idiot (10:52 am):** you do still want to right

 **Simon (10:52 am) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** if i dont kiss you before xmas im going to explode

 **Baz (10:54 am) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** Wednesday would be lovely.

 **Baz (10:54 am) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** Wednesday is

 **Baz (10:55 am) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** Of course I still want to, you delusional buffoon.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:57 am):** Yes.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:57 am):** If you'd still like curry, I can pick it up on my way home. You can meet me at my flat around 8:30.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:58 am):** I'll buy this time.

 **Fit Idiot (10:59 am):** you sure?

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (10:59 am):** Yes, Snow. I let you buy me a goddamn sandwich. Let me buy you a goddamn curry.

 **Fit Idiot (11:00 am):** lol fair enough

 

*******

 

 **Baz (11:01 am):** Well. Snow and I are having another date on Wednesday. If I die of a myocardial infarction brought on by severe panic, promise me you’ll weep over my corpse.  

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:02 am):** so basically if u die any other way we can just laugh at you right

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:02 am):** ooh wot about myocardial infarction brought on by *extreme physical exertion* ….

 **Baz (11:03 am):** Where the fuck is Niall?

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:04 am):** picked up a shift this morning

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:04 am):** dont change the subject

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:04 am):** wot are u & prince charming going to do on wednesday then? fuck? i hope?

 **Baz (11:05 am):** Does everything really have to be about sex? 

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:05 am):** …….yes?

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:05 am):** why’s it so bad that i want you to get a little vitamin d?

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:07 am):** come on baz 

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:07 am):** whats the plan for your date

 **Baz (11:10 am):** I invited him to the flat in a moment of uncharacteristic confidence and now I’m immensely regretting all of my life choices.

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:10 am):**!!!!!!!!!

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:11 am):** HES COMING TO YOUR FLAT?!

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:11 am):** omg he might be coming IN your flat

 **Baz (11:11 am):** I really fucking despise you. 

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:12 am):** love you too

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:12 am):** omgggg i’m so ready for this

 **Baz (11:12 am):** That makes one of us. 

 **Voice of Reason (11:31 am):** Not sure what I expected to find on my lunch break but I suppose this isn’t surprising

 **Voice of Reason (11:32 am):** 1\. Breathe, B. You’ll have a good time

**Imbecilic Relation (11:32 am): 😏**

**Voice of Reason (11:33 am):** 2\. Going on record right now to say that Dev Grimm is at least 95% talk & maybe 5% action, from what I’ve experienced thus far. And the 5% is a generous estimate

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:33 am):** this is outright slander

 

 

*******

 

 **Simon (4:06 pm):** PENNY

 **Simon (4:07 pm):** HNNNNGGG SEND HELP

 **Penny (4:08 pm):** What’s the matter now, Simon? Is Basil looking particularly delectable today?

 **Simon (4:08 pm):** fucking always

 **Simon (4:08 pm):** no yk how i told you about all this fucking misltetoe 

 **Penny (4:09 pm):** Unfortunately I do. 

 **Simon (4:15 pm):** had a customer sry. anwyay i was heading to lunch just as baz was starting his shift and we sort of got stuck under some

 **Simon (4:16 pm):** i mean i dont want to kiss him here

 **Simon (4:16 pm):** i mean i do but he wouldnt want his 1st kiss like that

 **Simon (4:16 pm):** anyway it was weird and ppl were sort of cheering us on 

 **Simon (4:16 pm):** we didnt do anything but i think hes embarassed

 **Penny (4:17 pm):** That sounds like grounds for harassment in the workplace, Simon.

 **Simon (4:17 pm):** i didnt do anything!

 **Penny (4:17pm):** Not you. Everyone else.

 **Simon (4:21 pm):** i dont thikn anyones trying to be like that

 **Penny (4:21 pm):** It doesn’t matter what they’re trying to be like, if it makes you uncomfortable. 

 **Simon (4:21 pm):** yeah

 **Simon (4:21 pm):** im fine. baz says hes fine but its hard to tell sometimes

 **Penny (4:22 pm):** Just make sure, Si. And tell your boss if you feel like it’s too much.

 **Simon (4:22 pm):** yeah ok

 

*******

 

 **Fit Idiot (4:23 pm):** hey sorry about the whole mitlsetoe thing

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:30 pm):** Why? You’ve not done anything.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:30 pm):** This is Dev’s work, and I can assure you he’ll suffer for it.

 **Fit Idiot (4:31 pm):** lol ok

 **Fit Idiot (4:31 pm):** i just talked to penny and she said peopel are harrassing us

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:35 pm):** They mean well, Snow; they’re just idiots, the lot of them.

 **Fit Idiot (4:35 pm):** so your okay

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:36 pm):** You’re.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:36 pm):** And I’m fine.

 **Fit Idiot (4:42 pm):** is it ok to say i still want to ksis yuo

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:42 pm):** What does “ksis yuo” mean?

 **Fit Idiot (4:43 pm):** your such an arse you know what it means

 **Baz (4:43 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** I want you to.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:45 pm):** You’re.

 **Fit Idiot (4:46 pm):** do you still want me to

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:46 pm):** Do I still want you to what?

 **Fit Idiot (4:46 pm):** omfg baz you know what

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:50 pm):** And you know I do.

 

* * *

 

**Sunday, 20th December, 2015**

 

 **Fit Idiot (12:11 pm):** are you going home for xmas

 **Fit Idiot (12:11 pm):** to hampshire i mean

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:15 pm):** Yeah. Niall’s already gone; he left this morning and Dev’s inconsolable. It’s disgusting. 

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:15 pm):** We’re leaving Thursday. 

 **Fit Idiot (12:16 pm):** what time do you go thursday then?

 **Fit Idiot (12:16 pm):** since i’ll be at yours wed night

 **Fit Idiot (12:16 pm):** dont want to keep you up too late 

 **Baz (12:17 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** What.

 **Baz (12:17 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** What are you insinuating, Snow? 

 **Simon (12:17 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** jesus fuck i didnt mean

 **Simon (12:17 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** i mean i wouldnt mind

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:18 pm):** We’ve not set a time, but Dev won’t wake up early if he doesn’t have to. 

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:19 pm):** It’s not a long drive. We don’t need much time. 

 **Fit Idiot (12:19 pm):** so your saying we can hang out for awhile

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:19 pm):** You’re.

 **Fit Idiot (12:19 pm):** your such an arse

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:19 pm):** You’re.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (12:20 pm):** And yes. I don’t expect I’ll want to kick you out of my flat when the clock strikes midnight. 

 **Simon (12:20 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** …

 **Fit Idiot (12:20 pm):** good 🙃

 

* * *

 

**Monday, 21st December, 2015**

 

 **Fit Idiot (4:47 pm):** hows that fancy coffee

**Fit Idiot (4:47 pm): 👀**

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:50 pm):** Adequate. 

 **Fit Idiot (4:51 pm):** come on baz it has to be better tahn that for you to come in on your day off to order it

 **Fit Idiot (4:51 pm):** or maybe you just likeeeeeee me

**Fit Idiot (4:51 pm): 😏**

**bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:52 pm):** I’m not sure I like this new side of vanity you’ve been exhibiting recently.

 **Simon (4:52 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** omg are you seriosu bc im just fucking around

 **Fit Idiot (4:52 pm):** well i liked seeing you

 **Baz (4:53 pm) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** Damn it, Snow, I was just taking the mickey. Fucking

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:53 pm):** I came to see you, Snow.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:53 pm):** Obviously.

 **Fit Idiot (4:57 pm):** hey baz

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (4:57 pm):** Yes?

 **Fit Idiot (4:58 pm):** your sarcasm is hot

 **Fit Idiot (4:58 pm):** but i really love it when you tell me the truth

 

*******

 

 **dev grimm (11:06 pm):** m8

 **dev grimm (11:07 pm):** tell me your planning on kissing my cousin soon

 **dev grimm (11:07 pm):** the suspense is killing me & it's not even me who's waiting to be kissed

 **dev grimm (11:07 pm):** like 

 **dev grimm (11:08 pm):** i kissed Niall in front of him today & he just looked so pitiful

 **dev grimm (11:08 pm):** Baz did I mean

 **dev grimm (11:08 pm):** Niall fucking loved it

 **dev grimm (11:08 pm):** Obviously

 **baz’s barista bloke simon (12:04 am):** hey 

 **baz’s barista bloke simon (12:04 am):** question

**dev grimm (12:05 am): 👀👀👀**

**baz’s barista bloke simon (12:06 am):** i know baz hasn't dated before

 **baz’s barista bloke simon (12:06 pm):** but have you ever thought that maybe your the reason why?

 **dev grimm (12:06 pm):** wow.

 **dev grimm (12:06 am):** low blow m8

 **dev grimm (12:07 am):** i am DISGUSTED

 **dev grimm (12:07 am):** i am REVOLTED

 **baz’s barista bloke simon (12:07 am):** lmao vine quotes aren't a personality but go off i guess

 **dev grimm (12:08 am):** Obvs you've been hanging around Baz too much. He's rubbing off on u in all the wrong ways 😂😏

 **dev grimm (12:10 am):** srsly tho are you going to fucking kiss on your dateeeeeee 👀😏😉😉😉😉😉😉😉

 **baz’s barista bloke simon (12:10 am):** fucking hope so

 

* * *

 

**Tuesday, 22nd December, 2015**

 

 **Fit Idiot (3:07 pm):** hey

 **Fit Idiot (3:07 pm):** nice trousers 😏

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:10 pm):** I stand by my original statement, Snow. You’ve an unhealthy obsession with trousers. 

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:10 pm):** Trust me, I know all about unhealthy obsessions.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:10 pm):** Also you’ve no idea what I’m wearing today.

 **Fit Idiot (3:11 pm):** burgundy jumper and tight black trousers

 **Fit Idiot (3:11 pm):** no prints today?

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:12 pm):** These aren’t tight, Snow; they’re slim fit.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:12 pm):** And are you stalking me?

 **Fit Idiot (3:13 pm):** gotta keep a close watch on you if im gonna carry out my murder plot

 **Fit Idiot (3:14 pm):** but mostly penny just wanted to come look at books

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:15 pm):** You’re here on your day off.

 **Fit Idiot (3:15 pm):** yeah well penny watned to look at books and i wanted to look at you so

 **Fit Idiot (3:15 pm):** your off for lunch soon yeah? will you eat with us? i’ll buy you a goddamn sandwich. or maybe we could go down to taht pasty place

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:16 pm):** You’re.

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (3:16 pm):** And yes.

 

 

*******

 

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:04 pm):** are u driving us to hampshire on thursday

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:04 am):** please tell me your driving

 **bazzle (8:10 pm):** I suppose. 

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:11 pm):** good because id love a chance to get hammered tmrw night & then just take a stress nap in the car on the way

 **bazzle (8:11 pm):** Charming.

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:12 pm):** ok let me put it to u this way

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:12 pm):** you may recall that your not the only one with a new boyf

 **bazzle (8:12 pm):** Simon isn’t my boyfriend.

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:12 pm):** as good as but thats beside the point

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:13 pm):** imagine for a moment that your me

 **bazzle (8:13 pm):** I'd rather be an amoeba.

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:13 pm):** so your me & your coming home for xmas & you have to tell your parents something like...idk

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:14 pm):** “happy xmas mum & dad, turns out baz isnt the only grimm around here who likes the d”

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:14 pm):** see my predicament

 **bazzle (8:14 pm):** I’ll drive.

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:14 pm):** your a doll

 

* * *

 

**Wednesday, 23rd December, 2015**

 

 **Simon (11:16 am) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** cant wait for tonight babe

 **Fit Idiot (11:17 am):** cant wait for tonight 🙃

 **Simon (11:17 am) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** also you can't just walk in here looking like THAT it's like your practically asking to be kissed

**Fit Idiot (11:18 am): 🦖🦖🦖**

**Baz (11:24 am) [ UNSENT DRAFT ]:** I see you're trying to taunt me by wearing your glasses, Snow **.**

 **bookshop bloke baz 🦖 (11:25 am):** I am also mildly enthused.

 

**BAZ**

Well. It’s been a properly long day. It’s been a properly long _week,_ truth be told.

It’s gone by fast enough, I suppose; all of the last-minute Christmas shoppers have certainly kept the shop busy. But I’ve been looking forward to _tonight,_ to my date with Snow, and waiting’s been a special kind of torture. A _relief,_ too, but still torture. (Especially with all that fucking mistletoe taunting me every day. My _cousin_ is a special kind of torture.)

I bore witness to Dev and Niall kissing for the first time just the other day. Well. Not _their_ first time, but the first time I _saw._ It was only a peck, and it was more comfortable than I’d anticipated, save for the sickening lurch in my gut…

I was _jealous,_ for fuck’s sake.

And then I immediately felt like an absolute shit because, _well._ They’re my best friends, and I think they’re happy—at least reasonably so—and I had to be a complete arsehole about it. As per usual. Not that I said anything. I was a complete arsehole in my head _,_ rather. Which is just as bad. Worse, sometimes.

Niall was hesitant about the whole thing. Dev wasn’t, of course, the tosser. And when it was over—the kiss itself lasted all of a split second, but the repercussions just kept echoing through me—they both looked at me sheepishly (Niall, moreso; Dev, barely).

Niall’s brow knit together. “ _You alright, mate?_ ”

And Dev, the insufferable git, leaned in and said, “ _A_ _re you_ yearning?”

“ _You should invite him out with us,_ ” Niall said.

Dev looked like Niall’d suggested something unsavoury, which for Dev is nearly unheard of. “ _Fish and chips is_ sacred—”

All Niall had to do was look at him for Dev to change his mind. “ _You should invite him out with us!_ ” Dev said, as if it was _his_ idea.

I just looked at the pavement and dragged a pebble under my shoe. “ _Yes, because everything went corkingly the last time we tried_ that—”

They wouldn’t have it. (“ _That was one time_!” Dev. “ _It’ll be easier, now that you’re dating._ ” Niall.)

Maybe they were right, about inviting Simon to hang out with us. Then at least I might not feel like a third wheel. (Not that they’re making me feel like a third wheel; _I’m_ making me feel like a third wheel.)

Simon. _Simon._

He wore his glasses to work today, the twit. I can never tell if he does it on purpose, though it does feel like a personal attack. _That_ is a special kind of torture, and I’m half-afraid he’ll wear them to my flat tonight. 

To my _flat._

I’ve just left the shop and I’m on my way to pick up fucking curry so that Simon Salisbury and I can have dinner at my fucking _flat._

It’s all I’m thinking about as I put our order in. As I collect our takeaway. As I get back in the Jag and drive myself home. I’m tearing the dead skin from my knuckles with my teeth and thinking about the fact that I’m going to be alone with Simon in my flat. That Simon’s going to be there with me. That he might kiss me.

That he’s probably going to kiss me. 

That he’s _going to kiss me,_ because he meant to the last time we were alone. Because we’ve talked about this. We’ve bloody well established that this is something we want. 

This is what I’m thinking about as I step into my empty flat, as I slip out of my coat and out of my brogues, as I change from trousers to jeans, as I get a fire going in the grate. 

This is what I’m thinking about when Simon Salisbury texts me.

 

 **Fit Idiot (8:14 pm):** hey do you have butter

 

I can’t imagine why he’d need extra butter for his vindaloo, but I think I’m too nervous for snide remarks. (I think Simon _likes_ my snide remarks, in any case, but I don’t want to be too off-putting, not when he’s about to come here. Not when he’s about to. Not when _we’re_ about to...)

 

 **Baz (8:15 pm):** Yes?

 **Fit Idiot (8:16 pm):** ok good

 **Fit Idiot (8:16 pm):** omw then

 **Fit Idiot (8:16 pm):** see you soon 

 

**SIMON**

I almost called Baz _babe_ in a text this morning. 

Then I realized it’s probably too soon for that, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself, and also what if he doesn’t want to be called _babe_ ? Like, how do people decide what they’re going to call each other? Probably Penny’d say to just _let it happen organically_ , or whatever. 

I guess sending the text would’ve been letting it happen organically, but I just couldn’t. 

I mean, I called Agatha _Agatha._ And _Ags,_ sometimes. (I heard someone call her _Aggie_ once, and she nearly flipped her shit.) (Probably Baz would flip _his_ shit if I tried to call him Bazzy.) (There’s no fucking way I’m calling him _Bazzy._ Jesus fucking Christ.) 

Anyway. I almost called Baz _babe._ And we haven’t even kissed yet.

I’m _going_ to change that. I’m going to kiss him tonight, after we have our dinner. Then, I dunno, I guess we’ll watch a film, like we planned. And maybe kiss some more. _Hopefully_ kiss some more. (I almost wore my glasses tonight—just to tease him—but then I figured it might be a bit annoying to snog with glasses on, so I didn’t.) (I got to hear him lisp enough while I wore them today at work, anyway.)

I’ve got Baz’s coat and scarf hanging in the back again. I actually haven’t taken them out since last Wednesday, and now the entire cab smells like cedar and bergamot. (And a bit like smoke; I forgot he’d been smoking outside the cinema before Penny and I showed up.) (I could’ve given him his coat back any day at work this past week. I _could’ve._ But then my truck started smelling like him and I just couldn’t. Not yet. And it’s not like he’s mentioned it…)

I’m giving him his stuff back tonight. And also I brought scones. I bought a bunch after work this afternoon, and then I realized as I was driving home that I’m not even sure whether Baz _likes_ scones. I mean, he _has_ to, yeah? 

The nerves hit hard once I turn onto Baz’s street. Not that I’ve not been nervous before now, but I’ve been trying not to think too hard about the fact that I’m about to be alone with Baz in his flat. I think about what my mum said last week, about nervousness and excitement being practically the same. 

I guess I’m just excited, then. 

I park the truck at the kerb and just sit here for a few moments. The light’s on in Baz’s flat, low and dim. I’m suddenly wondering if he has a fireplace, and then I’m thinking about curling up with him in front of it, and _Jesus fucking Christ,_ I just need to get out of this truck.

I do. 

 

**BAZ**

I nearly jump out of my skin when the doorbell rings, even though I was expecting it. 

I’ve been pacing the front of the flat since the text about the butter. (Honestly, what a question.) And now he’s here. On my doorstep. And if I let him in, he’s probably going to kiss me.

He’s going to kiss me if I open this door. 

There’s a lump in my throat. I swallow it as I step into the entryway. 

Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea? What sort of mad demon possessed me when I invited him here? The one inside me that wants to be kissed, I suppose…

I take a deep breath. Unlock the door. Turn the knob. 

And Simon Salisbury is right _here_ , holding my burgundy coat on a hanger in one hand and a paper bag in the other. The sheepish smile on his face is seconds away from sending me to my grave. At least he’s not wearing those infernal horn-rims; surely that’d be the final push I need to die.

“Hey,” he breathes. It’s soft and rises on the air; I can see it’s snowing behind him. He’s got some in his hair. Snow in Snow’s curls, how poetic. How fucking beautiful. 

“Hey.”

“I brought pudding,” he says, then looks like he immediately regrets it. “Um!” He holds up the paper bag. “I brought scones, I mean. S’why I asked about the butter—”

My heart is soaring and my stomach’s dropping and I think I might be sick all over my own threshold. “Come inside, Snow; it’s freezing out there.” I open the door wider and try to ignore my lisp. Simon steps inside and stands awkwardly in the entryway. 

_Close this bloody door and you’re crossing a line, Basilton._

I breathe deep. Then I close the bloody door. 

Snow is still stood in the same spot, looking around the flat like he’s never seen a home before. 

“You can take off your shoes if you’d like,” I tell him. I hold out a hand for him to pass me my coat. He does, and I can’t help thinking about that night at the cinema, about how I left him standing outside clutching this damn thing as he watched me walk away. 

He looks much happier now, in any case, and our fingers brush as he passes me the hanger. _His_ hanger. I feel like I should be past the point where a brush of Simon’s fingers sends a shiver down my spine, but I’m not. And I’m not so sure I’ll _ever_ be.

I nod at his feet. The cuff on his jeans is _doing something_ to me. “Go on, Snow; take your boots off.” If I’m going to be stood here in my socks, so is he. 

The smile on his face goes crooked. “So you _do_ wear socks, then.” How long’s it been since he was so fascinated by my no-show socks? 

I open the cupboard near the door and hang my coat. “Of course,” I say as I turn around, cross my arms. “I’m not an animal.”

“I dunno—” Snow is wobbling on his feet as he toes his boots off. “I mean, I’ve seen people put socks on their little dogs, yeah?” 

I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re comparing me to something as miserable as a chihuahua.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Just saying that _some_ animals wear socks. Though probably not ones with books printed on.” He’s pointing at my feet with his free hand, now. “Adorable. You’re fucking adorable.” 

“Give me your coat, Snow,” I say, because I’m currently functionally illiterate. “Or is that still too difficult a task for you?”

“You’re an arsehole,” he says, but he’s smiling as he passes me the paper bag and starts unfastening his duffle coat. 

 _Simon Salisbury is undressing in my entryway._ I wonder if he can see how hard I’m blushing. I wonder if I care that he can. 

I trade him the scones for his coat and hang it in the cupboard next to mine. I take my time straightening it out on the hanger, smoothing it down, buying myself time. Time for _what,_ I’m not sure, but it feels like something I need. 

When I turn back around, Snow is staring at me. At my _jeans_ , specifically; he has to lift his eyes to mine. I give him another raised brow. 

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being caught ogling my arse. “C’mere,” he says, shrugging. The bag of scones in his hand crackles. 

 _This is it,_ I think. _He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die._

 _He wants to kiss you, you fucking idiot. We’re going to have our first kiss in an entryway in our socks_ —

_Yes, as I said. He’s going to kill me._

“Baz?” 

I go to him, because he’s stood there in his stocking feet with flushed skin and snow melting in his hair. I don’t think I’m _ready,_ but I go to him—

_Oh._

He’s just wrapping his arms around me. Well, not _just;_ nothing is _just_ with Simon. I nearly immolate every time he touches me, even when there’s a sack full of scones pressing into my back. 

He _smells_ like them, like the café and cheap soap and himself, something warm and brown, something _soft._ His cheek is still cool from the weather outside, but his lips are warm when he presses them to the side of my face.

I don't think he knows what he's doing to me. Or maybe he does; he's kissed my cheek every time he's seen me since last Thursday, and every time he does I can feel the ghost of his mouth against my skin for hours, burning like a brand. He makes me weak and stupid. He makes me lift my hand to my face and brush my fingers against the place his lips have been. It’s a whole scene. A whole clichéd scene, every goddamn time.

The sound of his mouth leaving my skin is soft, and I wait for him to turn his head, to find my lips with his and finally kiss me. _Finally._ I imagine him pressing me back against the door as he presses his body against mine, as his mouth sets me alight.

I'm braced for it. I think I even _want_ it.

He doesn't kiss me. 

The stupid bag of scones crackles again as he shifts, as his arms let go of me, as he steps back. He's smiling at me, and his cheeks are flushed deeper than they were a moment ago. 

"Thanks for having me over," he says.

I've no idea what's happening anymore. Not that I've had any sort of idea this entire time; I'm complete shit at the entire concept of dating. But every time I think he's about to kiss me…

He doesn't.

I cock an eyebrow at him. It's what I do when I've no idea what to say. (I'm not about to say _Why the fuck haven't you kissed me yet?_ ) (I'm well aware that _I_ could kiss him.) (The very prospect is an entirely new level of terrifying.)

 _Say something,_ I think. _Say something._

I jerk my head towards the kitchen. "Curry's getting cold, Snow.” 

Well. I suppose that’s a start.

 

**SIMON**

Baz looks so fucking good I could cry.

I mean, I'm not going to cry. And also it’s not like this is the first time I’ve seen him today. But it's well difficult not to stare at him. (Maybe I’m _allowed_ to, now. Or maybe I have to kiss him to be allowed to stare at him, I don’t know.) (I’m going to kiss him. I’m not leaving this flat until I’ve snogged him senseless.)

We're having our curry in his sitting room, and we're sat cross-legged on the floor on either side of the coffee table, which is sort of funny considering there's a sofa as well as a perfectly good dining table we could've used. 

I like it, actually, sitting on the floor with Baz. Eating curry with Baz. Just...being with Baz, full stop.

Turns out he does have a fireplace. There was already a fire going when I got here, and it's warm against my back as we eat. (Probably I didn’t need to wear a shirt _and_ a jumper…)

This flat is smaller than I expected. Not that I've seen it all yet, but still. (I’ve caught myself thinking about what Baz’s bedroom might look like a few times. Whether I’ll ever get to see it…) The furnishings look nice and sleek but not like they cost a fortune. There're bookcases full of books, so many that some are stacked in front of the ones on the shelves. More shelves full of records, a record player on a stand. A few live plants. (We don’t have plants at home. Mum says she kills everything she touches, which I think’s a bit ironic considering she’s a nurse.) A bunch of photos on the mantle that I'd love to get a better look at later. 

I can't tell much about Baz's aunt by looking around. Then again he's said before that she's not here much, so maybe she hasn't bothered.

The whole place is warm and comforting in any case, and it smells like Baz. Like Baz and firewood.

It's nice, but not what I was expecting.

I guess I was expecting something—I dunno— _posher._

I say as much, which is probably rude, in retrospect...

Baz doesn’t seem to mind, apparently; he doesn’t even blink an eye. “Fiona lives on family money and spite,” he says, his mouth half-full. He must catch himself, because he swallows before he says anything else. “Also she works part-time at a record shop, when she’s not with Nicodemus.”

“But they don’t live together?” I mean, I _know_ they don't, obviously. But I don't really _get it._

“As good as at this point, really." Baz shrugs. "I don’t know. She says it wouldn’t _work,_ says they’ve tried in the past. I stay out of it, for the most part.”

“I feel like Nico’s always at the shop,” I say.

“He’s not. And when he’s not there, he and Fiona are off putting on shows at the drama society.”

“We’ve got a drama society? Here?”

He scoffs. “We’re a small town, Snow, but we aren’t _barbarians,_ ” he says. 

“Right, sorry. Forgot the theatre’s the mark of civilization.” I finish off the last of my vindaloo. Baz is barely half-done with his. “What about you?” I ask. “You into that sort of thing? Acting?” 

Baz shakes his head as he chews. “No, I. Well.” He’s moving his spoon around his bowl. “I play, actually. Violin.” 

“I didn’t know that,” I say. 

“I’ve not been practising as much as I should. Not since uni started. But it. Well, it helps with…”

“With your brain stuff?” 

Baz huffs. “Yes, Snow. With my _brain stuff._ ” 

“Will you play for me, sometime?” 

He huffs again. “Maybe when I’m not so rusty.”

I stretch one leg out until my foot nudges his knee under the table. “I’d like that.” I think he blushes, but it’s a bit hard to tell in the dim light from the fire. 

I’m just now realizing that the atmosphere in here’s well romantic. 

 

* * *

 

We have our scones at the kitchen island. 

It smells like sour cherry in here; the scones have been warming in the oven while we had our dinner. Baz is poking around the refrigerator, trying to find butter for me. He’s mumbling something about Fiona never putting things back in the same place twice, and I’m thinking about how bloody perfect he looks from behind. 

I mean, he’s perfect from every angle. But from here I can see his hair falling in waves over his shoulders as he runs one long hand through it. All the hard lines of him, shoulder to waist to thigh. The perfect way his shirt and trousers sit on his body. His jeans are snug, and he’s wearing burgundy again, a button-up this time. He must know how lovely the colour looks against his skin.

I think about walking up behind him and setting my hands against his narrow hips. I think about pressing my mouth into the skin of his neck, about kissing him there until he starts to go limp in my arms. I think about lifting my hands to his buttons and undoing them slowly, one by one. I’d have to wait until he turned around to see every new copper inch…

I really _shouldn't_ be thinking about any of that just now.

And also I'm just now realizing that maybe curry was a shit idea, breath-wise. 

Also I’ve just spotted a butter dish next to the toaster, and if I tell him I’ve found it I won’t be able to look at him like this anymore…

Then again, the faster we get through these scones, the closer I am to kissing him. (I don’t think I’ve ever tried _getting through_ a scone. Christ.)

“Baz,” I say. He turns his head to glance at me over his shoulder. Even that imperfect dip in his nose is perfect.

I pick up the butter dish. Baz looks embarrassed.

“Butter knife?” I ask. It’s always hard to tell which drawers other people keep their silverware in. (I know where the Bunces keep theirs; everyone else is a mystery.)

Baz opens a drawer and pulls out a butter knife. He hands it to me gently, and I make sure our fingers brush together as I take it. Then his back’s to me again as he bends to get the scones from the oven and _fuck._ I don’t think I’ll ever get over how perfect his arse is, no matter how much time passes. (I hope a lot of time passes between us, with us together.) 

There’s six scones on the tray. 

“ _Do you think you’ve brought enough pastries, Snow?_ ” Baz asked when I took them out of the bag. I wasn’t sure if he was taking the piss. 

I take one off the tray—it’s warm, not piping—and start to cut into it. 

“Let me get you a _plate,_ you animal,” Baz says. He sets one in front of me just as I’m slathering butter on. “Christ, Snow, that’s enough for all six of these—”

“Shut up,” I tease. I put the two halves of the scone back together and slide him the plate. “Maybe you ought to try it before you whinge about it.” 

Baz picks up the scone delicately—he even picks up scones perfectly—and takes a bite. He holds one hand over his mouth as he chews, and he’s got one eyebrow raised at me.

“Good, innit?” I ask.

Baz rolls his eyes but nods anyway. Then he drops his hand and takes another bite. I think he’s trying not to smile while he chews.

I’m grinning, and watching him…

Well, I feel like my heart’s about to burst, don’t I? Here in Baz Pitch’s kitchen, with Baz Pitch smiling in front of me and wearing socks with fucking books printed all over them. (I think I’m going to get him socks with t-rexes on for Christmas. I’ll have time to find some, while he’s away at his parents’.) 

Fuck, I’m so close to just stepping into his space and shoving my face into his. To kissing him so hard, he bends over the counter. I don’t even care that his mouth’s full. It’d be so easy, to step up to him right now. To take hold of his face, to press into every inch of him…

I butter another scone instead.

 

**BAZ**

Simon and I talked about mundane things while we ate the scones he brought. (He had four; he’s like a human garbage disposal. I’m a disappointment to myself for not finding him more disgusting.) We talked about our Christmas plans, and about Dev and Niall, and about Dev hanging that fucking mistletoe all over the shop.

I was _sure_ he’d kiss me then, right there in the kitchen while we still had scone crumbs on our fingers. It was a perfect segue. But he didn’t. Again. So I awkwardly suggested that we move back to the sitting room to watch...something.

He looked a little crestfallen at that, and I genuinely don’t know how to proceed. I don’t know how to give him a sign, and I’m not about to ask him to just bloody _do it._

This is what I’m thinking about as Simon Salisbury uses my toilet. 

I’m sat on the sofa with my fingers in my mouth just trying to figure out how to _act._ Human interaction and I don’t _mix,_ this is why I’ve never done this before, this is why—

“Hey.”

Simon’s a vision when he walks back into the sitting room. 

He’s taken off his jumper, and the shirt he’s wearing underneath is rumpled. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and until now I’ve not truly believed he’s trying to kill me but I might die anyway if I have to look at his arms the rest of the evening. His curls are stood on end; it looks like he tried to tame them after he took off his jumper but didn’t succeed…

Where’s he _left_ the jumper? In the bathroom, probably—

“Um.” He’s stood there rubbing the back of his neck and _Jesus fucking Christ,_ forearms should be illegal. “I was a little hot, so—”

“A _little_?” I say, and immediately hate myself. 

He smirks at me. “Was that a compliment?” 

I look somewhere over his right shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I think he rolls his eyes at me; it’s hard to tell from this distance. And also because I’m not looking directly at him. “Okay, yeah. So.” He’s walking towards me. Fucking _fuck,_ he’s walking towards me looking like _that._ “What d'you want to watch?” He sits next to me on the sofa, so I get up and sit on the floor in front of Fiona's case of DVDs and Blu-rays instead. I think I might be sick.

He bloody well gets up and follows me.

I can hear myself breathing.

I lie on my stomach and pull a few films off the shelf, just aimlessly, and start flipping through them. I'm not even looking at the titles. I wonder briefly why the fuck we aren’t just browsing Netflix…

Then Snow lies on his back and rests his perfect bloody head in the small of my mine and I almost choke. He can probably feel my heart racing. I'm amazed he can't hear what I'm thinking.

I don't know what I'm thinking.

I'm just breathing. Barely.

And also I’m trying not to break into hysterics over the concept of _Netflix and chill._ I’m very decidedly _not chill._ I’m never fucking chill. _It doesn’t fucking actually mean_ chill. 

I feel Snow’s head turn against my back. He's looking up at me. I turn my head to look at him, too, my fingers sweating against the plastic in my hands. It's a bad angle, but I still see the flames from the fire dancing in his blue eyes.

His stupid blue eyes that aren't special at all.

I swallow. “Well,” I say. “There's s'lot of…” _fuck. “Choices_.” I say it slowly. It's barely a whisper. I sound like an illiterate buffoon.

Snow licks his lips. “You're nervous,” he says.

I swallow the small bit of saliva that's left in my mouth. “Thank you for pointing that out, Snow. I wasn't aware.” Oh, _fuck_ , I sound like an absolute moron. I'm not talking anymore.

I clamp my lips closed and swallow _again,_ even though there's nothing left in my mouth to swallow. Snow watches my Adam's apple bob.

“I'm nervous too, y'know,” he says. “S'not like I've ever done this before.”

“What, watched a film with another bloke?”

“ _Fancied_ another bloke. Shit.”

He. _He fancies me._

I knew that, didn't I? I don't think I did. I _should've_ _bloody known that._

I should say something. Anything. Anything that won't slur in my stupid mouth.

“Um.” Oh, _fantastic._ I've stooped to his level.

Simon sits back up. “You don't. I mean.” He starts fiddling with the carpet in front of his crossed legs. “Y'don't _actually_ want to watch something, do you? I mean, it's fine if you do. I just…” He swallows, and it's the showiest fucking swallow I've ever seen. It makes me want to bite his Adam's apple.

I push the stack of films away and sit up, too. “No.” It's all I can say right now. 

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I've never _been_ in a situation like this before. Unless you count the other night in his truck. 

I suppose I _have_ been in a situation like this before. But that one ended without any progress.

I don't want that to happen again.

“Simon,” I say, and it sounds ridiculous with my lisp but there's no point in hiding it. He already _knows._

He swallows his showy swallow again and _grins_ at me. Then he pushes himself up onto his knees and starts to shuffle towards me.

Oh fuck.

Okay.

What do I do?

He's taller than me like this. I don't know if I like it. 

I don’t have the time to decide, because then he’s settling back on his haunches in front of me and we’re almost back to eye-level. _Almost_. I let out a shaky breath against my will, _damn it all._

Maybe I should just kiss _him._ Get it done. Cross the fucking line. 

Do I _want_ to be the one to make the first move? God, I haven't even thought about it. I haven't properly thought this through. ( _How_ have I not thought this through?) I don't know how I want my first kiss. Who's meant to do the kissing. 

This seems _important_ —

“Simon,” I say again.

And then _he_ kisses _me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst. we're not done. i'll be posting a new mini chapter shortly (if it isn't already up by the time you read this). wink wonk
> 
> also here's Baz's hot swot cup:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/48948873772/in/dateposted-public/)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/48949285791/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> just making sure I have your attention if you haven't read chapter 13 yet, because I updated twice today! turn back & read it if you haven't yet!

**SIMON**

I had to. 

I _had_ to, with him sat there looking like that, _sounding_ like that…

There was nothing for it. As much as I love to listen to him talk, I wanted this more.

Baz’s lips are soft against mine—and warm—and it’s a little strange at first. 

I guess I thought it’d feel different, since he’s a bloke. 

It _does_ feel different, just not the way I thought.

It’s _good. So_ good. At least it is for me. We’ve been kissing for—what?—thirty seconds, maybe, and it’s already better than any snog I’ve ever had. 

That’s when I realize I’ve just given Baz his first kiss. 

Oh, God. 

I can't fuck this up. It's his _first kiss._

_Am_ I fucking it up? I don't know. No one's ever complained about my kissing before. _Would_ they have done if it wasn't good? I don't know.

Baz’s breath shakes against my cheek, and he even lets out a little noise against my lips when I set one hand against his jaw. It’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever heard. 

I don’t think I’m fucking it up, then. 

I push my other hand up into his hair and let it fall through my fingers. I've thought about touching his hair more times than I can count by now. I thought about it the very first time I saw him.

It's so much better than I imagined.

I rest that hand against his jaw, too. I'm holding his face, and he’s got hold of one of my wrists, and when I move my lips against his, he sighs. Then he starts to move with me.

He’s letting me lead, but he pushes back when I push my face into his. He’s _good_ at this, for someone who’s never kissed before. (Then again Baz is good at everything, so I shouldn’t be surprised. It's just like him, really.)

 

**BAZ**

_I'm kissing Simon Salisbury._

_I'm_ kissing _Simon Salisbury._

Fuck, but I'm living a charmed life.

His hands are gentle on my face, and I’m gripping his wrist because I’ve no idea where else to touch him. I want to touch him _everywhere_ ; I want to feel his heat under my fingers, under my palms. I want every part of him pressed against me. I want to feel the thrum of his heart in his chest as he kisses me, kisses me, _kisses_ me...

I reach with one hand and touch him gently at his collar, right at his pulsepoint. His heart is beating fast as a hummingbird’s wings, nearly as fast as mine. My fingers slip beneath his shirt to press into his shoulder, and he tips my jaw upward with his hands as he moves his mouth faster against mine. 

I’m breathing heavily, and I _should_ be embarrassed about it. _Normally this is the sort of thing I’d be embarrassed about…_

Not that I’ve ever done this before.

Fuck, is this what I’ve been missing? 

No. No, I’ve not missed out on anything. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else but him. 

He’s still on his knees, sat back on his heels. I’ve a fleeting thought that it can’t be comfortable, but then he’s doing this lovely thing with his chin, moving it up and down as he kisses me, and I can’t be bothered to worry about it.

I want to feel his hands in my hair again. 

But then his fingers stroke my face, and he lets out a sound, and his mouth lets go of mine.

 

**SIMON**

I'm out of breath when I pull back. It'd be embarrassing if Baz weren't out of breath, too.

His eyes flutter open. “Why'd you stop, Snow?”

I grin at him. “Had to give you a chance to catch your breath, didn't I?”

He gives me a look, almost like he wants to hit me, but then he lunges forward and kisses me instead.

Fuck.

_Fuck._  

It’s just.

It’s so _good._

I mean, I’ve wanted this. I’ve _wanted_ it for what seems like forever, now. Ever since I met him. Ever since that night he told me he’d never been kissed. Ever since the other night in my truck, under the stars. I’ve wanted him, and wanted him, and wanted him.

But now it’s _real._ It’s happening, right now. And it’s better than anything I’ve imagined. 

There's a swelling in my chest, a lurch in my belly, heat everywhere. _Everywhere,_ and I'm pretty sure it's not from the fireplace.

I take Baz by the back of his neck to pull him closer to my mouth. He lets out a surprised little huff that makes me hum against his lips.

I want…

I _want…_

 

**BAZ**

I feel Simon's tongue, warm and wet and teasing against my lower lip, asking me to let him in.

I do.

My fist is bunched in his shirt—I'm not sure when that _happened_ —and I feel the first button slip undone, feel the fabric as the tension gives.

I'm falling, falling _...actually_ falling as one of Simon's palms presses into my chest, presses me back, and back, and back…

And then Simon's above me, his perfect bloody forearms bracketing my head, and I think I might be dreaming. 

He's grinning down at me, and the firelight's dancing in his eyes, and I'm going to wake up. I'm _going to wake up…_

First I'll make the most of this while I can.

I lift myself with one arm until my mouth is on his again. I take him by the back of his neck and pull him closer to me. I let the warmth of his mouth seep into mine.

And then, well.

Then we fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hot diggity damn, only took 111k to get these idiots to KISS
> 
> (I'm super excited for the next chapter, btw)
> 
> (please tell me how you liked 13 & 14!)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! 
> 
> Let's see...when we last left our boys, they were having a romantic lil first kiss on Christmas Eve-Eve. Let's see what happens next, shall we?
> 
> Thanks as always to [f-ing-ruthless-baz & ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation)[warriorbeeofthesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorBeeoftheSea/pseuds/WarriorBeeoftheSea) (née soultoast) for their beta work, educating me about UK vs. US mattress sizes, & generally being awesome. Thanks as well to the wonderful [lafbaeyette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/lafbaeyette), who guest-beta'd this chapter for me.
> 
> I've received a few gifts since last chapter & just wanted to say thank you again for them; my heart keeps threatening to explode because of this [wonderful art of Simon by @icarus-n-flames](https://icarus-n-flames.tumblr.com/post/188976880517/so-thehoneyedhufflepuff-is-so-spectacular-with), this [moodboard by @elephants-eat-bunnies](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/188991007997/ahhhhhhhhh-thank-you-this-is-adorable), & [this meme (end of post) by @katyazhuravlik.](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/188615895567/between-the-lines-or-the-bookshop) Y'all don't know how much this stuff means to me; thank you so very much. <3 
> 
> **content warnings for this chapter:** mild sexual content, mental health stuff, feverish wanking, an excess of tooth-rotting fluff; do NOT send me your dental bills because I cannot afford to pay for all these cavities

**BAZ**

Simon Salisbury is still kissing me.

I don't know how long it's been since we started. 

I’m so hard it’d almost be a mercy if he left just so I could get myself off. 

I wonder what would happen if we tried to get each other off. Would it be such a bad thing? We’ve only just kissed, but we’ve been tip-toeing around each other for what seems like forever.

The thought alone sends a surge of terror down my spine and a wave of heat licking low in my belly. Two equal truths, the fear and the _want..._

No, it’d be a bad idea. _We’ve only just kissed._ And probably Simon wouldn’t even want that. He’s never fancied a bloke before; he said it himself. And what comes with fancying another bloke? Fuck, is he even _ready_ for that? Will he ever be? Am _I_ ? (I think the fuck _not_ .) Is anyone ever _truly_ ready? 

His mouth is killing everything I’m trying to think. Or at least quieting my mind enough for me to be _here,_ in this moment. This beautiful catastrophe of a moment, this skewed alternate reality where Simon Salisbury is kissing me, kissing me, _kissing me..._

Simon’s pressing his body into mine, and I swear all my nerves are alight with fire. That’s when it happens; that’s when his hips push down into mine and I feel him hard against me. That’s when I gasp, and he pulls back, and I know it’s all over.

_Fucking fuck._

“Um,” Simon says— _pants_ —but he doesn’t pull away. He tries to shift his hips back a little instead, but all that does is push us together some more. He lets out a little breath, and I whimper, and all the blood that isn’t in my cock rushes to my cheeks. “Sorry…” he says.

“No, it’s,” I start, but I’m fucking _lisping_ , damn it all. “It’s…”

“S’not bad,” Simon says. “S’fine. It’s. Well. It’s really _good_ , innit?” 

_Really good._

“D’you. Um.” He’s blushing, he _has_ to be. He’s looking at my face, holding my gaze, and I fight the urge to look away. He threads his fingers through my hair and it feels so good, so _right._ “Baz.” 

My heart is pounding in my chest and between my legs. “Yeah.” It’s all I can say. 

“Um. D’you.” His eyes flick away from mine—up to his fingers running through my hair, down to my lips—and back again. “D’you maybe. Want. Um…”

I breathe deep and reach up to run my fingers through his curls. He leans into my touch, and I want so _many_ things. I want _him._

“Fuck it,” he says, and he hoists himself up and off of me. I miss the warmth and the weight of him immediately. I blink and watch as he sits back on his haunches, then shifts to cross-legged. I try not to look at his crotch, but I can’t help it. Maybe Fiona was right. Maybe Simon _is_ exceedingly thick in more ways than one. (I’d really rather not think of Fiona right now, which is why her bloody voice keeps replaying in my head.) (I breathe in and let the thought go.)  

He’s fidgety, and he looks nervous, and I’ve no idea what he’s doing. Maybe it _is_ all over—

“Should we—” He looks like he immediately regrets it. “Um.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck and swallowing that fucking swallow and god _damn_ it, I’m laid out in front of him. I’m still fully clothed—save for a few undone shirt buttons—but I feel naked. 

I sit up, too. I pretend I don’t see his eyes catch on the bulge in my jeans. “Simon—”

“We could—I dunno—just keep making out and go from there? I mean—" _What?!_

“I’m a virgin!” I blurt, because I’ve suddenly lost control of all my faculties, it would seem. _I’m a virgin._ Of course I’m a fucking virgin, honestly. If there were actually a God, I’d be sinking into the carpet right now, but of course the universe isn’t so merciful.

“I know,” Simon says. “I mean. I figured? I didn’t mean—”

“And you’re not,” I say, because I’m clearly trying to humiliate myself as much as humanly possible.

Simon’s brow knits together. “What?” Then he huffs a laugh. “Fuck. _Baz. I’m_ a virgin.”

“You are not.” I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.

He looks taken aback. “What d’you mean?”

“You’re too bloody fit to be a virgin!” Please, Death, _take me._

He scoffs. “Well so are you. _Christ._ ”

We're just staring at each other now, and I've no idea how to proceed. 

Of _course_ I don't know how to fucking _proceed._ What’s the etiquette for getting things back on track, for _making out and seeing what happens,_ for fucking _moving on_ after making idiotic presumptions about someone’s apparently non-existent sex life (based solely on said someone’s immense sexual appeal), especially when that stupidly attractive someone is sat just across from you on the floor moments after snogging you bloody senseless?

False confidence? That might be best. 

It's a bit of work to put on airs with Simon's eyes roaming over me the way they are. It's a goddamn miracle I've not immolated yet.

I do the thing I always do when I don’t know _what the fuck else to do_.

I cock an eyebrow at him.

 

**SIMON**

I don't know what we're doing, but I let myself stare at him anyway. Really drink him in. 

He’s well appetizing, even with that bloody eyebrow cocked at me. ( _Especially_ with that bloody eyebrow cocked at me.)

His shirt is rumpled and hanging open enough for me to see the line of his belly. He’s not _muscular,_ exactly, but he’s toned, and his colouring’s a lighter shade of copper underneath his clothes. I could probably see a nipple if I reached out and pushed his shirt to the side... 

Fucking hell.

"Fuck," I say, and I swallow. I can't believe we're doing this. I mean, I _can_ , but.

I don't know what I was thinking.

I don't know that I was thinking at all. Just feeling, really.

And now...

_Now_...

"You're lovely," I say. "Truly."

Baz is giving me that look he does when he thinks I'm being an extra special idiot. Or when he's nervous; I can't decide which.

He glances down at his open shirt, then back at me again. "Never seen a bit of skin before, Snow?" He's lisping, still, but at least he's not trying to stop himself talking. He shouldn't be embarrassed about it. (Personally I think it's a bit hot, especially now with him looking like _that_.)

"Not like yours." And that's the truth. 

Apparently Baz thought that I've had sex before, which is a bit of a laugh.

Agatha and I never really _did_ much, sexually. Not that I didn't want to, I did. But she didn't, and I wanted to give her time, and, well. I guess I tried not to think about it much. Wasn't on the priority list. 

Point is I've never gotten off with another person, and I'm realizing that that's what'll happen if I start kissing Baz again. I mean, I must've _known_ , considering I’m hard and he’s hard and it’s so bloody _good,_ but—

"You seem to be thinking terribly hard about something," Baz says, raising an eyebrow at me again. His shirt gapes open a little more as he props himself back onto his elbows. "Must be painful."

I roll my eyes. "Prat," I say, and I crawl until I'm holding myself on all fours above him.

When he looks at me, his lips fall open, just a bit. It makes me want to...

God, I've never wanted someone like _this._

I brush some stray hair away from his face. "You are, y'know," I say.

He raises an eyebrow at me again. "What, a prat?"

I huff a laugh. "No. I mean, _yes_ , but. That's not what I meant." I lower myself until I'm braced on my forearms. "You're lovely, is what I meant."

His eyes soften and all I want is to press my body down into his, to be close to him. To make him feel _good_.

"Simon—" The last bit of my name vibrates against my lips as I kiss him again, and I think we both gasp a little when I let his body take my weight. Fucking _hell._

He's tense against me for a moment—probably I've surprised him—but then he lets out a deep breath and starts to melt back into the carpet and _fuck,_ it's hard to believe this is actually happening.

I kiss him like I've wanted to for ages now, long and slow and deep. He makes the loveliest little sound when I thread my fingers through his hair, and when I move my hand to cradle the back of his head.

And when he touches me…

_Fuck,_ when he touches me…

He's gentle, but he's firm, too, and the way his hands feel against my back—his long, graceful fingers pressing into me—

It's something else. It's something I've wanted, and something I didn't realize I wanted. I don't know how it took me so bloody long to figure it all out. (The liking blokes thing, I mean. I certainly figured out I liked Baz right quick.)

There's so many things I want to do to him. So many things I want him to _feel._

He chases my lips with his when I let go of his mouth, but then I'm nuzzling into his neck and his hands press into me harder as he lolls his head to the side. I breathe him in as I ghost my lips along his collar. He's all cedar and bergamot and something deeper, something heady, something well and truly his. And…

Me. 

I think I smell _me_ on him, too.

I hum against his skin as I kiss along his neck and behind his ear. Baz’s breath shakes back at me, and I fucking love that sound but I just want to hear _more._ I nip at his neck just to see if he startles. He does, and I think he even _giggles,_ which is the most adorable fucking thing I've ever heard. It's so _good_ to hear him laugh, to hear him let go.

His breath catches when I suck at the same spot. I give him a lick there for good measure. (I’m hoping that maybe he’ll have a mark there later.) 

I kiss his neck one more time before going back for his mouth. I've got one hand still cradling his head, and I'm thinking of all the ways I could make his breath shake some more...

He arches into me and lets out a _hmmph_ against my mouth when I reach up with my free hand and squeeze his breast over his shirt. (I thought it might work; I like to do that to myself sometimes when I'm trying to get off.) _Fuck,_ that _noise..._

It’s a right shock when he rolls us over, but I’m not mad about it. 

 

**BAZ**

I don’t know if I’m any good at this. 

I’ve been worrying on it all along, as Simon kisses me. As I kiss him. But it’s getting quieter, my mind, the longer we keep at it. The longer he kisses me. The longer he sighs and moans against my lips. The longer I feel him hard against me. 

He wants me, and every time I feel that surge of doubt I just tell it to fuck right off. 

Because I want him, too. I want _this._

He’s beneath me, now, my hands pressing into his chest. I’m straddling his lap, looking down at the fire in his eyes. At him. His face. 

Blue eyes. Bronze curls. Shadows from the fire dancing on his tawny, freckled skin. 

I want my mouth on every one of those freckles. Every mole. Every constellation. 

_Simon Salisbury showed me the stars._

I want, I want, I _want._

I don’t know what I’m doing up here; of course I _don’t_ . But I’m trying to let my body lead. My heart. My _body_. 

Simon’s looking up at me like I’m something to be cherished. Adored. His palms are resting warm against my hips and I feel so vulnerable I almost want to put a stop to it, to stand and walk away, to pretend this never happened. (I couldn’t; even if I didn’t want to hold on to tonight forever, I don’t think my mind would let me forget. My mind. My _heart._ ) 

I hinge myself forward as Simon strokes his palms against my hips, my waist. My hair falls into his face, and he moves one hand to push some of it behind my ear. Our faces are so close together, we’re breathing the same air. All I’d need to do is tilt my face that final inch, and we’d be kissing again. 

I don’t. 

I’m slipping my eyes closed and smiling instead, and Simon Salisbury is huffing a laugh against my mouth as his thumb strokes along my cheek. 

“ _C’mere,_ ” he whispers. It’s a gentle brushing of his breath against my lips. 

I close the distance, pressing my lips to his like a promise. 

His hands are smoothing up and down my back, his mouth opening under mine. I’ve not tasted curry on his tongue for some time; now he just tastes sweet. Warm. Heady. _Simon._

He's humming into my mouth. It's the sweetest sound I've ever heard, ever _felt_.

He makes it again when I pull away, and again when I ghost my lips feather-light against his neck. I can feel the rumble in his throat, his chest. 

I swear my heart skips a beat when he reaches down and pulls my shirttails from the back of my trousers.

I'm not sure what we're _doing_. _Making out and seeing where it goes_ , I suppose. Snow's words. 

I think about stopping him, as I feel his fingertips pressing into the skin of my back. 

I don't _want_ to stop him. I never want to stop touching him, and I never want _him_ to stop touching _me_.

My lips are still at his neck, brushing his skin so lightly I'm almost not touching him at all. It was so _good,_ when he did this to me. I want to do it _right_ …

I work my mouth beneath the hinge of his jaw, behind his ear. There's a mole halfway down the side of his neck I've wanted to kiss since the first time I saw it.

I do.

And then he’s rolling us back over again, pressing me down into the carpet, pressing himself down into _me._  

I don’t mind. I like the feel of him on top of me, the weight of him, the _heat_ of him. It feels safe, being under him. Being _covered_ by him. 

He holds himself up on all fours above me again and smirks down at me—he keeps _doing_ that. (I love it.)

He makes me reach up for his mouth again. 

Of course I do. 

It won't be the last time.

 

**SIMON**

I've got Baz right where I want him, under my hands.

Under my body.

Under _me._

I liked it with him on top, too. (I wouldn't mind trying that again.) I want him any way he'll have me. I want him any way he's comfortable.

I just _want_ him.

I'm kissing him again, sucking on his lips. Cupping his face. Sliding my tongue into his mouth. Feeling him, _listening_ to him. The hitches in his breath. The little _hums_ he makes when I move my chin against his.

I wonder if I could make him come like this. I wonder if I _should._

I said we could see where it goes, and he didn’t say _no…_

I'm trying not to think about it too much. I'm trying to just _feel_ instead.

It feels so _good..._

I untucked his shirt while he was on top of me. The back of it, at least. I think he liked that. ( _I_ liked that.)

I think the front bit's still tucked into his trousers...

Probably I should leave it that way.

One of my hands is in his hair. His lips are fuller now, kiss-swollen under mine. He's got the back of my head in his hands, and he's _pressing_ against me, pulling me in closer.

It doesn't feel like enough. 

I'm smoothing my hand down his side and squeezing him at his hip before I can think too hard about it. Then I pull at the front of his shirt until it comes untucked from his jeans. 

I just want to feel his skin under my hands, that's all.

I do. 

I work my hand beneath the hem of his shirt and flatten my palm against his side, his belly. I can feel the muscle moving beneath his skin, jumping at my touch. 

I wonder if he'd be okay with me grabbing his arse, or if that'd be too far. Like, over his clothes. (I want _more,_ but…)

I mean. We're both hard, so I feel like it's probably not _too far_ at this point. 

I don't know how to tell what's too far.

Probably he'd tell me?

Maybe we should've talked this out...

Fuck it.

 

**BAZ**

Simon’s hands are on me. 

His tongue is in my mouth, and he’s moving against me, burning me up from the inside. One of his broad hands is rubbing against my belly, and it feels so fucking good I think I could die. I don’t know how many times I’ve felt on the verge of death tonight, but nothing’s come so close as _this._

I could die like this forever, with Simon Salisbury sighing into my mouth. 

The hand beneath my shirt moves back down my side, down and down and down until he’s got it splayed against my arse. Nobody’s ever touched me there, not like this, and suddenly he’s stroking down again, cupping the back of my thigh, pressing against it until I lift my leg and hitch it over his. He presses his hips down into me then, and _fuck…_

It’s so good I can barely stand it. All of it. _Any_ of it. Simon Salisbury here with me in my flat, warm in front of my fireplace. Simon Salisbury on top of me, the length of his body pressed against mine. Simon Salisbury stroking my face and kissing my neck and smoothing one broad hand along my thigh...

Sometimes when I’m kissing him I can feel the mole above his Cupid’s bow under my lips. 

_When I’m kissing him…_

It’s a bloody Christmas miracle. 

He lets go of my mouth to pant into my collar. I’m panting, too, and we’re rocking together, _grinding_ together. My heart’s pounding, and there’s a fluttering in my belly, so much _heat_ as Simon presses his lips into my neck again. There’s a spot just behind my ear that he keeps going for, and it’s so bloody _good…_

I can feel his lips against my earlobe, his breath coming warm and fast and loud in my ear. I hug him closer with my leg. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says. No, not says. _Sighs._ “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot…” 

Blood rushes to my face at that. I’m burning up, incinerating…

Simon’s trailing wet, warm kisses along my jaw, against my hairline, over my cheekbones.

He huffs a laugh as he nudges my nose with his. “Like your nose,” he says, gorgeous numpty that he is. Strange thing to think about, at a moment like this. (What _is_ this?) Then again I'm terribly weak for his moles, so.

He lifts one hand to trace the bridge of my nose with his fingertip, and suddenly—

I’m in the car, my gut lurching as my mother swerves, the sound of my bone _cracking_ echoing around my skull, and—

No. Not now. Not _now._ Not fucking—

_Blood and glass and pain_ —

_Now._

_It was your fault she died._

Fucking—

_You're the reason she's dead._

Simon's mouth on mine. His hands on me.

_Blood and glass and pain_ —

Not _now._ Not with him touching me. Not while I'm—

_You killed her._

—beneath him, with his mouth on mine and his fingers winding in my hair. Not while he's—

_Blood and glass and pain_ —

—pressed against me, pressing _into_ me, giving me everything in one long, lingering—

_Your fault._

— _kiss._

I can't breathe. It feels like there's a band tightening around my diaphragm, and I can't—

" _Simon._ " I have to turn my head for him to stop kissing me.

Only he doesn't stop kissing me.

His lips are trailing along my neck again, and it doesn't feel _good_ anymore.

" _Simon_.” I try to say it harder this time. “I can't. _Stop_. I can't."

His lips still against my skin, and then he pulls back to look at me. I can't look him in the eye right now, not like this, so I look at his lips instead. They're swollen and wet and parting as he says, "Can't what?"

Can't _what_ ? Come? Come with _you_ ? Do any of this? Will he even still _want_ me if I stop it?

"I _can't._ "

"Okay. Okay." He lifts himself up, lifts himself off of me, and I can almost breathe again. _Almost._

I can feel myself starting to shake, and—

_It was your fault._

_No, it was an_ accident. _An accident. An accident an accident an accident an acci_ —

_If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive._

“Hey,” Simon says, and he sounds so far away…

_I wouldn’t’ve. I loved her. I_ loved _her_ —

I’ve sat up, at some point, and Simon’s watching me.

_Fuck. Off._

I’m gritting my teeth and clenching my fists and _Jesus Christ,_ Simon Salisbury is here, watching me, probably thinking I’m a complete fucking—

_Blood and glass and pain_ —

—lunatic.

I have to get away. I _should,_ I _need_ to. But I can’t; I’m home, and I can’t run from my own mind, there’s nowhere to—

_No, fuck that._

Fuck that, this is my fucking life—

_It’s fear, and it’ll take everything you’ve got if you let it_ —

I want him. I want _this._

And I want to run. 

_What if I lose him, too?_

_Don’t think about that, not now_ —

_Blood and glass and pain_ —

_I can’t_ do _this. I can’t I can’t I can’t_ —

“Baz?” 

 

**SIMON**

He's freaking me right out.

It takes me a minute to realize what’s happening, to be perfectly honest. I’m too worked up, and I’m trying _not_ to be. I mean, obviously he needs me—he needs _something_ —but I’m still trying to catch my breath. I’m still waiting for my trousers to loosen up. 

Oh, _fuck,_ I think we almost just…

We almost just…

It’s fine. It’s _good._

Or it _was_ good. 

Now it’s not, apparently…

“Hey,” I say again. I’ve been saying it, but he’s not answered me yet. 

I’m not sure what I _did_ …

Probably I took things too far. _Shit,_ I didn’t mean to. I mean, I _wanted_ to, but I would’ve stopped if he didn’t want me to…

If I _knew_ he didn’t want me to.

Fucking _hell._

Baz is running one hand through his hair. (His hair’s a bit of a mess, but it still looks lovely, almost like he made it look that way on purpose.) I think his hands are shaking, and he’s looking around everywhere but at me.

_Fuck,_ I’ve gone and cocked this all up. No pun intended.  

I don’t know how to _fix_ this—

“Um,” I start. “I didn’t. I mean, I’m sorry if…” _Fuck,_ I sound like an idiot—

“It’s not you,” Baz says. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut, and he’s leaning forward to hold his head in his hands.

Oh.

_Oh._

I shuffle towards him on my knees. I try to be quiet about it, and slow. “Hey, um…” I just want to help. I just want to _help_ him. I want to fix it for him, but I know I can’t. “What can I do to help?”

His head shakes against his palms, his lovely black hair slipping over his knuckles. “I don’t know,” he says. I barely hear it.

“But—”

“I don’t _know._ ” It’s louder this time, sharper. He sounds pissed off—

“Sorry,” I say. I’m not sure what else _to_ say. 

I’m not sure what to _do._

 

**BAZ**

Simon’s getting up. 

_Fuck_ , he’s getting up…

I should just let him—

_Your fault your fault your fau_ —

—go. He deserves _better_ than this, than me. I’m so fucking—

_Blood and glass and pain_ —

—weak. And a complete arsehole. He asked me what he could do to help, and all I could do was snap at him…

I’m holding my head in my hands, and my mind won’t shut up, and I think I might cry because Simon’s left me here in my sitting room alone, rocking back and forth in front of my bloody fireplace. 

I don’t want him to leave. I _never_ want him to leave, but also I _do,_ and—

_Blood. Glass. My mother…_

_My mother…_

Light a match. 

It was one snog. Just one snog, Basilton. It’s nothing, nothing, _nothing._

But that’s a lie, of course. I’m good at a lot of things—I’ll not deny it—but lying to myself isn’t one of them. 

Kissing Simon—being _kissed_ by him—is everything. 

I shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have let myself fall, shouldn’t have gotten in so deep…

I’m waiting to hear the sounds of a door opening, the rustling of Simon’s coat as he slips into it, the jangle of his keys as he picks them up from the kitchen counter…

I’m waiting until he leaves to let myself cry. I can at least give myself that one small mercy—

There’s the sound of someone rifling through the kitchen cupboards, the delicate _thump_ of wood on wood, that sound they make when you’re being overly careful, trying not to slam them…

I lift my head. I can see the kitchen from here, see Simon currently working his way from cupboard to cupboard…

I’m not sure what he’s doing. Maybe he’s looking for a keepsake; maybe he does that with everyone he’s snogged…

_Fuck,_ I don’t want to think about everyone else he’s done this with, so of course I am, my mind playing images of Simon Salisbury tumbling around on the floor with one girl, another, another. Kissing her neck, right behind her ear. Hearing her sigh as he does it…

And then I’m ashamed for even thinking that Simon would _do_ something like that, take something from me. (He _has_ taken something from me, but nothing material. And I gave it to him freely. My body. My _heart…_ ) 

My heart. It's hammering against my ribcage, pumping my body full of pain and anxiety and _life._

Fuck, but it hurts to be alive sometimes.

Simon's found a glass in one of the cupboards. He's filling it with water. He's…

...walking back to me. 

I'm hugging my knees to my chest, trying to make myself small, really. I'm staring at Simon's thigh when he offers the glass of water to me.

I take it, and he sits next to me, cross-legged.

"Sip it," he says. "Focus on sipping it till it's gone. Might help."

I've not looked him in the eye yet; I'm still trying to process the fact that _he's still here…_

I lift the glass to my lips and start to drink.

"I used to go to speech class, yeah? And classes for my reading," he says, just starts talking at me. "I'd get so angry sometimes, felt like I was gonna explode. So my mum used to give me a water and have me sip it, yeah? Just focus on that till all the shit feelings went away. Worked a lot of the time. She used to do this breathing thing with me too but can't do that and water at the same time, so…"

I glance at him over the lip of my glass, because I'm partly convinced he's not real, that maybe I'm about to wake up…

He's doing this thing with his lips, pursing them, pulling the bottom one into his mouth. I keep getting a glimpse of the tip of his tongue…

They're swollen, his lips. My own are sore as I sip on the water he brought me.

Simon Salisbury kissed me enough to bruise my mouth. He showed me the stars. He’s here with me right now, sat next to me as I drink…

He’s so lovely. So incredibly lovely...

And he’s _here._

 

**SIMON**

When Baz finishes his glass of water, he lets it hang from his hand while he stares at the carpet. 

I don’t know if it’s okay to touch him yet. I don’t know if it’s okay to touch him at all. 

“Hey,” I try. He doesn’t look up, just runs his free hand through his hair. I watch as it falls through his fingers. “S’okay, y’know. Whatever you’re feeling.”

“I’m sorry,” he says to the floor.

"What?"

“For snapping at you.” 

I shake my head even though he can’t see me do it. “S’alright. Just. Did I go too fast for you?” 

“I…” He’s still not looking at me. 

“I don’t. I mean. I didn’t mean to, if I did. Just. Baz.” 

When he lifts his head, his eyes are sad. It breaks my heart. 

I swallow, and I see him watching as my throat bobs. “It’s just. I’ve never…” Fuck, I’m shit at this.

Baz raises an eyebrow at me, which is a bit of a comfort, honestly. Maybe he’s starting to feel better. 

“I’ve just never wanted someone like I want you, is all.” Fucking hell, how embarrassing. My face heats up right quick, but Baz might be blushing too, if I’m not mistaken. It’s a bit hard to tell in this lighting. (He’s lovely, in any case. I don’t think there’s a scenario in which Baz could be anything but lovely.) 

He takes a breath. He looks tired. Not a normal kind of tired, but weary. He’s been thinking too much, that’s what it is. I wish I knew how to fix it…

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Snow,” he says. He even _sounds_ tired.

I mean, it’s probably late by now; I don’t know how long we spent snogging. (Not long enough, in my opinion. I could kiss Baz forever, I think.) Probably he’s bone-weary _and_ brain-weary. 

“You okay?” I ask. (I’m not sure what else _to_ ask.) 

He nods. “Tired.” 

Maybe I should go. I don’t _want_ to…

“What happened?” I mean, I know what happened; it’s his brain stuff. But I don’t _know_ what happened.

He doesn’t say anything.

Fuck, I just want him to _talk_ to me about this stuff. I don’t want him to be afraid…

“Hey,” I say again. I’ve said it a lot in the last ten minutes or so. “You can tell me, yeah? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’m not going anywhere. Told you that, remember?” 

He rubs his lips together and takes another deep breath. Then he says, “I broke my nose in the accident.”

Oh. 

Oh, fucking hell.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head and shuts his eyes. “Not your fault.” 

I don’t know if that’s true, exactly, but I don’t push the issue. Probably his brain’s being an arsehole, I guess. I wonder if that would’ve happened if I’d’ve left his nose alone...

“Was it like that night? At the cinema?” I ask. 

He nods, just a bit. “Not as bad…” He looks away from me and sucks on his teeth. The firelight’s catching in his hair, making it shine crimson. It’s lovely. (He’s always so lovely…) 

He takes another deep breath. “Maybe we should slow down.” 

My heart sinks a little; I can’t say I’m not disappointed. But. _But…_

I reach for his free hand. He lets me take it. “Whatever you want, yeah?” 

He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Really?” 

I shrug. “‘M not in it to get off, y’know. I mean. That’d be good, too, but it’s not…” _Damn it._ “‘S’just not what’s most important, I mean. Like.”

Baz looks like he’s trying not to smile. That’s good at least, even if I’m making a complete arse of myself just now. 

“I’m not good at this,” I say. 

Both of Baz’s eyebrows hitch up towards his hairline. “Not good at _what_?”

I can feel myself blushing again. “ _Prat._ At _talking_. Finding the right words.”

He’s smirking, now. “You certainly use your mouth well for other things.” Good fucking _God,_ he’s lisping again…

And blushing. _Definitely_ blushing. 

“Guess you’re feeling better then,” I say. (Hopefully it’s okay to tease him about it.) ( _Shit…_ )

“Yeah. Tired, but yeah.” 

I squeeze his hand. I don’t want to go, but I want him to be okay. He should _rest._ Try to relax. All of it. (I’m more than a bit knackered myself, now that I think about it.) “C’mon then,” I say. I get up, not letting go of his hand. 

He startles at first, but then he’s letting me pull him to his feet. “What’re you doing, Snow?”

“Off to bed with you, yeah? ‘M tired, too. Should let you sleep.”

 

**BAZ**

Fuck. 

_Should let you sleep._ What is that, code for _I want to break this off, but I need to let you down gently by pretending I care about your bloody sleep_ —

He’s tugging on my hand, walking me back to my own kitchen. He brings us to a stop in front of the sink and takes my glass from me, sets it inside the bowl. He’s smiling softly at me, and his curls are mussed, and if he’s pretending to care, he’s certainly going above and beyond. 

I don't want him to leave. If he leaves, he might not want to come back.

“It’s late, Snow,” I say. Fucking _fuck,_ I’m lisping. Of _course._ “You shouldn’t.” _I_ shouldn’t, probably. This is likely a terrible idea and I’m nervous as all fuck but I just want him to _stay._ “You don’t need to drive home, rather. You could stay here.” 

I can’t be imagining the light in Simon’s eyes, can I? Surely I’m not delusional on top of everything else.

He grins stupidly at me. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” I say it entirely too fast, entirely too desperate. (I don’t really care at this point.) 

“Um.” Simon’s worrying the back of his neck with his free hand now. (I can’t help but stare at his forearm as he does it, because I’m completely fucking predictable.) (I can’t help but remember the way those arms looked, the way they _felt_ as they bracketed my head, as he held himself above me…) 

“Baz?” He’s saying my name like it’s not the first time he’s said it. 

I lift my eyebrows at him and pretend I’ve not been daydreaming about him snogging me. 

“D’you want me to take the sofa, or—”

My heart is practically bursting in my chest for this gorgeous, delectable moron. The _sofa,_ honestly. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, too quickly again. “You can stay with me. But just...that.” Ah, yes. I can’t help but embarrass myself further, it seems. But I’m not _ready,_ I don’t think. (I don’t know that I’ll ever be, really, but I’d rather not focus on that at the moment. Not when Simon Salisbury’s about to spend the night.) (Jesus _Christ,_ Simon Salisbury is about to spend the night…)

Simon’s grinning crookedly at me. It may very well be the cause of my imminent demise. “No ravishing you in your bed then, is what you mean.” 

Well. That’s a way to put it.

“Precisely,” I say. Right. Yes. 

“Does just kissing count as ravishing?” 

“Bloody well hope not.” 

 

**SIMON**

Baz doesn't like surprises, but he's sure been full of them lately.

Inviting me here. Being an ace kisser, honestly, for someone who's never done it before. Sort of almost getting off with me on the floor. Asking me to spend the night.

Walking me to his bedroom now.

Fucking _hell,_ Baz Pitch is walking me to his bedroom. After we almost got off together on the floor…

I don't know, there's something a lot more intimate about him opening his bedroom door and letting me in than _almost getting off together on the floor._ I’m not really sure if that makes sense…

Baz’s room is the calmest thing in this flat. (His hand’s trembling in mine, and I’m pretty sure my heart’s beating so fast it might wear itself out.) The walls are navy blue and tan, which is sort of surprising but also I wonder if it’s on purpose. (Isn’t there something about blue being a calming colour? I don’t know.) The furnishings are sleek and simple, like the rest of the flat. He’s got more bookcases in here, and a desk with a closed Macbook. He’s got a walk-in wardrobe (of course he does, the toff), a violin case propped against one of the bookcases…

And a bed. I mean. Obviously he’s got a bed in here; it _is_ his bedroom. 

It’s bigger than the one I’ve got at home—a king, maybe—and now I’m just thinking about all the things I want to do to him in it. 

Bloody hell, I _shouldn’t_ be thinking about that just now…

(I can’t _help_ it; we almost got off together on the fucking _floor_ …) ( _Almost._ I’m half-tempted to ask him if I can use his shower just to have a wank and get it out of my system.) (And also I’m thinking of _Baz_ wanking in his shower, or in his bed, and fucking _hell,_ I just know I’m going to have a hard-on the whole bloody night at this rate. Which is fine, I guess. A little embarrassing, sure, but fine. It’s fine. I’ll just have to think of other stuff while I’m in bed with him, I guess.) (Jesus fuck, I’m about to be in Baz’s bed. _With_ Baz.) (Maybe he won’t mind if I’m hard?) (I can’t _help_ it.) ( _Look_ at him, it’s fucking ridiculous.) (Like, he should understand that I can’t help it, shouldn’t he?) (He’s got a dick, too. I’ve _felt_ it. He should know how this works.) (Oh my fucking God. I’ve felt Baz’s _dick…_ ) 

“Snow?” 

“Hm?” 

“I said I’ll loan you some pyjamas.” 

“Oh. Right…”

He drops my hand then and walks over to his wardrobe and I’m just still enjoying the view, honestly. (Until he disappears inside of it; then I’m just wondering how long it’d be proper to wait before I kiss him again.) (Again. I want to kiss him _again…_ ) 

Baz pops back out of his wardrobe right quick. (It must be well organized in there.) (I know he told me OCD’s not about colour-coding wardrobes and all that crap, but also I can’t imagine him having a messy one.) (I can barely find anything in mine, if I’m honest. He’d probably have kittens if he saw it…)

He hands me a folded up pair of red and gold striped pyjamas. They’re so bloody _soft_. “Here,” he says. “Go ahead and change. I’ll duck out for a moment.” 

I don’t know if it’s _necessary_ for him to be out of the room while I change. I mean, I’ll keep my pants on. (Maybe it’s better this way. I don’t know if I’m ready for him to see me without a shirt on, honestly.) 

“I—” I start, but he’s already halfway to his door. He closes it softly behind himself. “Um. Thanks.” 

 

**BAZ**

He’s staying. He’s going to _stay…_

What a beautiful disaster this is. 

I try not to think about my episode while I search Fiona’s bathroom for contact solution and a new lens case (so of course I'm still bloody thinking about it). I’m sure I’ve a few spare toothbrushes in my own bathroom; I always keep the ones they dole out at the dentist’s. 

Fucking _Christ,_ my hands are shaking. Simon Salisbury is undressing in my bedroom right now. This is completely fucking _absurd…_

_Where in the seven bloody circles of hell does Fiona keep her goddamned contact solution?_

This is absolutely not fucking happening. _Simon Salisbury is not stripped to his pants in my bloody bedroom right now._

I keep thinking about him, now that I’ve calmed down. _Relatively._ The feel of him on top of me. The feel of him pressed _hard_ against me…

I wasn’t embarrassed about my being hard when we were together. But now that it’s over I’m astonished I’ve not imploded from sexual frustration and shame. (I don’t know _why_ I’m ashamed; my parents never approached sex as a shameful topic. Fiona certainly didn’t…) 

_Good luck trying to rationalize your way out of this one, Basilton._

And now I’ve invited him to stay the night in my bed, like the absolute love-sick fool that I am. Because I’m weak. Because I don’t want him to leave, to change his mind. Because I want him to kiss me again. (And maybe more, if I could handle it.) (I don’t think I could handle it, not yet.) 

I find what I’m looking for before I’m ready to face him again, in any case. 

_Light a fucking match, Basilton. And think unstimulating thoughts, for fuck’s sake._

Simon’s already in the pyjamas I gave him when I head back towards my room; we nearly collide outside my door. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Just—”

“Here.” I offer him the solution and the clean case. “Fiona wears contacts. It’s. It’s clean, anyway.” 

I hazard a glance downward. Godfucking _damn it,_ those trousers will certainly leave very little to the imagination, if we...

My entire life is simply a fucked up comedy of errors, it would seem.

I look back up at him and hope to fuck he didn’t catch me looking at his crotch. The smile he gives me is threatening to end me. “Was just gonna sleep in them,” he says. “‘S fine, for a night—”

“Don’t be disgusting,” I tell him. _Honestly._ I’m such an arse. (I can’t help it, not with him stood here looking like _that,_ wearing _my_ pyjamas, his curls a hassled mess and his cheeks tinged the loveliest shade of pink.)

He’s seemingly unaffected by my words, in any case. (Small mercies.) “No, this is brill; thanks.” He looks around gormlessly. I hate how fucking _endearing_ it is. “Um. Well, I guess I’ll…” He steps around me and into my bathroom. (Jesus fucking _Christ,_ Simon Salisbury’s in my bathroom. In _my_ pyjamas.) 

He sets what I’ve given him on the counter before turning back to me. “Just. I’d like to look at you, yeah? I’m fucking blind without these. Should’ve thought to bring my glasses. I mean. I _did_ think about it _._ But I didn’t want.” He raises both eyebrows at me. “Didn’t want you uncomfortable—”

My heart is threatening to burst from my ribcage. I’m _already_ uncomfortable. “Snow,” I say. Fucking _slur._ “You’re _allowed_ to wear your glasses around me—”

“Just thought you might be well compromised if I did, so…” He’s not wrong. But I’m also not sure it would’ve made much of a difference as far as tonight’s events are concerned. 

“Anyway,” he says. “I planned on snogging you this time, didn’t I? Never had a snog with glasses on before. Thought they’d get in the way.” 

There’s nothing I can do but blush and look pointedly at anything but him.

Ah, there’s his jumper. Apparently he did leave it in here, threw it right over the shower rack— 

That’s when I realize I’ve not offered him a shower.

 

**SIMON**

I thought Baz was about to explode, when I said what I did about my glasses. 

But then he just asked me if I wanted to shower instead, and thank fuck he did, honestly, because this is my fucking opportunity to knock one out. Maybe this’ll at least keep me from getting inconveniently hard the rest of the night. (I asked him if he wanted to shower first, but he said he’d wait till morning. And also, “ _If I wanted to shower, Snow, I could use my aunt’s. There’s two, you numpty."_ )

Anyway. He’s letting me use his shower, said I could use his posh soaps and everything. ( _He_ didn’t say they were posh, but they absolutely are; even the bottles look expensive.) 

I’m so hot, and it’s steaming in here, and I’m thinking maybe I should’ve just taken a _cold_ shower instead, because maybe it’s a bit fucked up to jerk off with Baz waiting for me in his room. Maybe it’s a bit fucked up to jerk off in someone else’s _shower,_ for fuck’s sake…

I snap the cap on Baz’s soap and smell it, and fuck if that isn’t all I need to get hard. 

That’s...sort of pathetic, maybe, but I can’t help it. I can’t _help_ it, not when we almost got off on the floor together. Not when all I can think of is Baz beneath me, Baz sighing and moaning while I kissed him, Baz arching into me, Baz _hard_ against me—

That’s well gay. 

I mean, this whole thing’s well gay, isn’t it? But it’s more _real,_ now we’ve actually kissed. Now we’ve nearly got off together. ( _Nearly._ ) Now that I’m about to sleep with him in his bed…

I almost groan when I wrap my hand around myself. (I’m glad I don’t. It’s bad enough I’m about to have a wank in Baz’s shower; the last thing I need is for him to _hear_ me doing it…)

This isn’t going to take long at all. Not with how worked up I got. How worked up _we_ got. Fuck, I wonder if Baz is doing the same thing, right now—

I’ve got one hand against the shower wall as I use the other on myself. The water’s _hot,_ and this entire shower smells like Baz, like cedar and bergamot—

My breath keeps catching. I might be a little light-headed from the heat, or maybe that’s just from everything that’s happened tonight. Fuck…

I’m just thinking about myself, about me on top of Baz, rocking against him, kissing him in that spot just behind his ear—

And that’s what does me in.

 

**BAZ**

I wait until I hear the water running to drop my trousers. 

This wasn’t the original plan. I offered Simon a shower out of sheer politeness, but then he actually _agreed,_ and now I’ve got at least a few minutes to sort myself out before he’s done. 

It’s _wrong,_ probably. I keep thinking that. _It’s wrong it’s wrong it’s wrong_ —

But I’m not sure _what_ it is that’s so wrong about it. 

I think maybe it’s just me being me. What’s that Snow says, that my _brain’s being an arsehole._

That’s exactly it. 

My pyjamas are laid out on my bed, and I’m stood here in my pants, and I could either change now and stay frustrated or have a quick wank and be ashamed of myself. 

I lock my bedroom door and choose shame.

I’m not sure where I should do this. 

The bed’s the logical choice, obviously, but Simon’s about to sleep in it with me…

_It’s alright._ That’s what I try to tell myself as I lie down, as I shuck my pants, as I check to make sure the water’s still running. 

_The door’s locked; he won’t catch you._

_But then he’ll_ know…

_Shut up shut up shut UP._

I wonder if Simon’s touching himself in my shower. Maybe _that’s_ why he was so eager when I asked...

It’d be just like him, really, beautiful moron that he is. 

The water’s still running, and I’m thinking that I completely ruined our chances, that we were hurtling _towards_ something, before my brain got in the way. 

Fuck, how am I supposed to _do_ this? Be... _intimate_ with someone? With _Simon_? 

I’m chewing on my thumb, so I drop my hand. 

The water’s still running, and it probably won’t take me long to come if I actually _try._

As it happens, pure embarrassment isn’t particularly stimulating. 

Alright. _Breathe._ Good. Again. 

Just push everything to the side. Try not to fucking _think._

That never works. 

Try to think of something _else…_

Simon Salisbury kissing me. His hands in my hair. The way it felt, to have his weight resting on top of me, to feel him hard against his flies. For me. 

For _me._

I reach down and wrap a hand around myself. Then I replay everything _good_ that happened between us in my sitting room. The heat of him. The way his mouth felt on mine. (We _fit,_ like our mouths were made to kiss each other.) (Fucking clichéd, but here we are…) That special way he moved his chin. The way he pulled my shirt from my trousers, the rub of his hand against my belly, how _good_ it felt when he used that hand on my chest—

The water’s still running, and I get a vision of Simon Salisbury flushed and panting, his curls damp, hot water running over his tawny skin as he ruts into his own hand, and—

I have to swallow my gasp as my hips jerk, as I spill messily over my fist and belly. 

Fucking—

What a fucking _relief…_

That’s when I hear the shower turn off.

 

**SIMON**

I brush my teeth while Baz gets ready for bed. (I assume that’s what he’s doing; his bedroom door was closed when I opened the one to the bathroom.) 

It’s a good thing he thought all this out; _I_ definitely wasn’t thinking about toothbrushes or contact solution when he asked me to stay. 

I was just thinking about him. 

Seems like Baz is pretty much all I think about these days, honestly. (I’m not mad about it.) 

I’m feeling well sorted, now that I’ve...well. _Sorted_ myself. Plus I’m clean, and I smell like Baz, which is a definite plus. 

I’m just brushing my teeth and thinking about all the ways I could kiss him again—I can’t _wait_ to kiss him again. (It’ll be easier to do without any embarrassing boners now, too.) (I’m not sure I _would_ be embarrassed if it happened again, but I feel like Baz might be, since he’s Baz and all.) 

I just want to kiss him again. I want my hands in his hair. I want my lips on that spot on his neck that makes him laugh. I want us pressed together again, and I can do it _right,_ this time, now I know how his nose got broken. I’ll be sure not to mention it again. (Or touch it again, I guess.) (Hopefully I can manage it.) 

I’m just about done in here when Baz comes out of his bedroom—I can see his door in the bathroom mirror—and ducks out around the corner before I can spit and say something. I didn’t even get a good look at him and I’m a little put out, to be honest. (I want to see what he looks like in his fancy pyjamas.) (It’s a miracle the pair he gave me fit; I’m much broader in the shoulders. My hips, too. Also Baz doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him.) (That’s probably not true, but he’s got less than I do in any case.) 

Anyway. I spit and wipe my mouth. Then I head down the corridor to find him. 

I come into the kitchen just as Baz pops something into his mouth and takes a drink of water. Probably his meds, then. I wonder if he was trying to take them without me seeing. (I don’t mind seeing. I don’t want him to mind me seeing, either.) 

He’s lovely like this. Usually when I see Baz he’s dressed like he’s walked right out of an advert for posh clothes. Until tonight, I guess. Tonight I’ve gotten to see him rumpled and undone, but still so bloody perfect. Now he’s stood here in the poshest navy blue pyjamas—I think they’re actually silk, for fuck’s sake—his hair pulled into a messy knot at the back of his head. 

He’s still got his book socks on. 

He looks embarrassed as he takes another sip of water. “Do you need something, Snow?” he asks once he’s swallowed. “Water?”

I’m grinning at him. “Just wondered where you’d gone, is all.” 

He finishes his water and sets the glass in the sink. His pyjamas are much roomier than the trousers he normally wears. (It’s a bit disappointing, if I’m honest.) 

I wonder if I can kiss him here, just like this. If I could press him back into the counter the way I wanted to earlier. (Am I allowed to kiss him whenever I’d like now? I don’t know…)

I take a small step forward and reach out for him. My palm lands at his hip; I can feel the jump of his belly beneath the silky fabric of his pyjamas. “You alright?” I ask. 

His eyes fall closed and he nods as I stroke my thumb along his hipbone. “Yeah. Yes.” 

I set my other hand against his other hip, too. “This alright?” 

He nods again. 

That’s all I need to close the distance between us and reach for his mouth with mine. My lips are on his before I even realize that this is the first time we’ve kissed standing up. (He’s not _that_ much taller, but I still have to tilt my chin up to make it work.)

He lets me press him back against the counter. I think about lifting him so he can sit on it; we’d be more level that way (his height’s all in his legs). I could knock his knees apart and slot myself between them. 

He pulls away gently and licks his lips. “I’ve not cleaned my teeth.”

“So?” I don’t bloody care. He tastes _good._

His hands are at my hips, too. “ _So,_ ” he says, pushing me back, just a bit. “Let me clean them first, you nightmare.” 

_First._

I grin at him. 

 

**BAZ**

I can’t believe I’ve done this. 

That’s what I keep thinking as I furiously brush my teeth. (They’re _clean_ by now, surely; I’m stalling because I’m a bloody coward.) 

I want him here. I think that’s the part that’s scaring the hell out of me: how much I want him. 

He’s waiting for me in my bedroom. _Simon bloody Salisbury is waiting for me in my bedroom, where I just fucking_ wanked _to the thought of him getting himself off..._

I feel like I did before he kissed me the first time, like I’m waiting for something terrifying and lovely and earth-shattering all at once. Like it’s inevitable, like I can’t stop it. Out of _control._

I don’t like not being in control; it’s the cosmic joke of my life, _needing_ to let go just to stay sane. Bloody OCD. Bloody _Simon._ Bloody fucking forearms. 

I bend and spit, and when I stand back up—

“ _Jesus_ , Snow.” 

He’s stood behind me in the mirror, looking sheepish and maybe a little pleased with himself, too. “Sorry,” he says. It’s like some sort of horror film, if the serial killer in the mirror were fit and apologetic. 

My heart’s racing, in any case. 

He moves up behind me and loops his arms around my waist, hooks his chin over my shoulder. He’s watching our reflections, and I’m watching myself swallow. 

I let myself close my eyes. He’s so warm, and he _smells_ like me, and his arms around me feel _good._ So good. 

There’s a prickle down my spine as Simon presses his lips to my neck. He’s got me shivering, and I dare to open my eyes…

My lips are parted, so I close them as I watch the way Simon Salisbury touches me. It’s uncomfortable, really. Vulnerable. Completely terrifying. But it’s _good,_ too. His eyes are closed, his kisses soft, his curls ticklish against my skin…

There’s warmth pooling in my belly again, and I can feel every bit of him pressing against me from behind. I can’t help but think about him moving his hands down my hips and into my trousers—

Fucking hell, I’m disturbed. I told him no more than kissing tonight. (I still don’t know if I can manage it.) (It’s a damn good thing I _did_ get myself off; otherwise I’ve no doubt I’d be hard again by now…)

I’m watching him again, watching as his mouth trails a path of fire along my neck, listening to it...

Maybe I should’ve showered, too. Then at least he’d be mouthing at clean skin. Not that he seems to care—

I narrow my eyes and turn my head away from him to get a better look at the skin behind my ear. He rests his forehead against my shoulder and breathes out and _fuck,_ I’ve got—

“ _Snow,_ ” I say. I’m turning my own jaw to the side, pulling at my skin for a better look. There’s a mark almost out of sight, mottled red and purple. I knock my shoulder back and he jerks his head up to look at me. I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve given me a _love bite,_ Snow.” (I pretend that my heart doesn’t skip a beat at the word _love._ )

Simon smirks back at me. “You seemed to like it at the time.”

Well. He’s not wrong about _that._

It’s difficult not to smile back at him. (Fuck, I’m so far gone. _Too_ far gone, now.) “I’m going _home_ tomorrow, you numpty.”

His face falls then. “Oh, shit. Fuck, sorry—”

I’m still turning my head, trying to get a better look. It’s far back on my neck, far enough that my hair should cover it fine. “I’ll just need to keep my hair down, is all.” 

“You saying you wouldn’t mind another?”

“Don’t tempt me.” 

His arms tighten around me as he props his chin on my shoulder again. “We look good together, yeah? You and me.” 

We do look lovely together. _He_ looks lovely. 

I’m just staring. I notice he’s not washed his hair—

Simon digs his chin against my shoulder. “Blink once for _yes_ , twice for _no—_ ”

I roll my eyes at him. 

He’s giving me that grin again, the one that makes me weak in the knees. “Wanna take a mirror selfie with me?” 

I do.

“I most certainly do not,” I say. 

“Anything I can do to convince you?” He’s got one arm still wrapped around my waist, and he’s started rubbing my stomach with his other hand. I can feel the warmth of him through my pyjamas…

I melt back into him and let my eyes slip closed, because he’s working on my neck with his mouth again, and it feels so _good._ “Tomorrow,” I mutter. “When we’re dressed.” 

He nips at my earlobe. It simultaneously sends a spark down my spine and scares the hell out of me. He _giggles_ when I jump. 

“Alright, then,” he says. 

 

**SIMON**

Baz actually locks the door to his bedroom when we come back from the bathroom. (I turned him ‘round and snogged him against _that_ counter, too.) 

“Why’ve you locked the door?” I ask. I try to lift an eyebrow at him, but both of them shoot up instead. “Have you lured me here to kill me? Has this all been a plot to cover your own tracks, trying to get _me_ to admit to my nonexistent murder plan? Thought you could seduce me, did you?”

Baz huffs and rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes; you caught me.” He crosses his arms and raises one eyebrow at me. (Of course it works for him.) “I keep all my murder weapons stashed behind the bookcases.” 

“Hm.” I walk up to the nearest one and stand in front of it. “Maybe you’d like to...I dunno. _Seduce_ me some more first?” 

“Haven’t you had enough of me?” 

I snort. “Not bloody likely.” I lean against the bookcase. “C’mere and murder me.” 

“Snow, I’d rather not rattle the furnishings.” He’s lisping so hard and I just want to step forward and catch his tongue with mine before he trips over it. “I can murder you in my bed, if you’d like.” His eyes go a little wide then, and he looks away. 

Fucking hell, I wish I could see how hard he’s blushing right now, but the only light in here's coming from his bedside lamp. It's well dim…

Well _romantic._

I swallow. “I _would_ like that. Actually.” 

He’s lovely just now. He’s always so lovely, but _now…_

Looking at him now, in here, opened up for me, blushing for _me,_ wearing silk pyjamas and embarrassment and socks with books printed on…

I want him. 

I want everything about him. I want everything he’s got to give.

“Hey,” I say. 

He glances back at me. I can tell he’s nervous, but he doesn’t drop his gaze. “Hey yourself, Snow.” 

“D’you. I mean.” _Shit._ I’m not sure how to say this. I’m not sure how to _ask…_

“You look like you’re in pain again,” Baz says, and he crosses the room to sit at the edge of his bed. “I suppose you've not learned your lesson about thinking hard.” 

I scoff and then go to sit next to him on the bed. I sit close enough for our thighs to touch, and he doesn’t pull away. “You’re such a dick,” I tell him. 

“Yes, well. I’m aware.”  He’s smoothing one of his hands over his trouser leg—the one closest to me. I set my hand on top of his and he stops moving. 

“I like it,” I say. “I like _you._ ” 

He turns his head towards me, just a little, and gives me the most incredulous bit of side-eye I’ve ever seen. “There’s something wrong with you,” he says. 

“Nah.” I’m grinning at him. And hoping he’ll look at me full-on. “You’re well likable. You’re. Well, I’m lucky you like _me,_ really.”

“Who said I like you?” 

I nudge his shoulder with mine. “You did.”

“Hm. You’re delusional as well, it would seem.”

“ _Baz,_ ” I say, and I nudge him in the shoulder again. “Surely you’ve told me you like me. At least once.” Hasn’t he? Now I’m bloody well second-guessing myself…

He doesn’t say anything, the wanker. 

“Well,” I say, working my hand between his thigh and palm until our fingers are laced together. “I like _you,_ you barmy git. I like all of this. I want…” I swallow, because I’m still not sure how to word any of this. I don’t know how to _do_ any of this. “I want _this_ ,” I tell him. 

I’m playing with his fingers, and he’s letting me.

He looks at me finally, brow furrowed. “What’s _this,_ Snow?” 

“ _You_ ,” I say. ( _Fuck_ , I want him so much.) “I want to be your boyfriend.” 

 

**BAZ**

I blink at him.

He’s holding my hand, and I want to pull away. (I _never_ want to pull away.) 

“ _Simon_ —”

“It’s okay,” he says. (He doesn’t _sound_ okay.) “If you don’t want to, I mean—”

"You don't know what you're asking," I say, and I _sigh._ Because I'm weak. Because I can't deny Simon Salisbury anything. "But you can have... _this,_ if you want it." My heart is pounding so fast, it’s like to stop. 

Simon squeezes my hand. “Really?” He’s smiling at me. It’s almost hard to look at him, like looking into the sun…

I nod. 

And then I drop his hand—because it’s so bloody _vulnerable;_ I’ve had my fill of vulnerability for one night—and move to crawl into bed. “Come on, Snow; it’s late.” I move one of my pillows over for him and nestle myself beneath the blankets. He crawls in after me, still grinning. (Jesus _fuck,_ Simon Salisbury is crawling into my bed. With _me._ And he’s my _boyfriend…_ ) 

He lifts the blankets and settles under them, facing me. His face is squished adorably against the pillow, his ridiculous (unwashed) curls tumbling over it, and that bloody _smile..._

Apparently vulnerability hasn’t had its fill of _me._ And also I’m going to spontaneously combust in the night, surely. I’ve seen documentaries on that. I once had intrusive thoughts about it—one of my many bouts of existential dread—and my stepmother tried to sleep in my bed with me to calm me but I was too afraid of lighting her up with my uncontrollable ignition—

"I should say,” Simon starts, shifting closer to me. (He’s so fucking _close_ , he’ll surely set me alight before I even have the chance.) “I've only been a boyfriend once, and I think I was sort of pants at it, to be honest. But I want to do better, yeah?"

I’ve _never_ been a boyfriend.

I fully expect to be awful at it. 

“Surely you can’t be any worse at it than you are at anything else,” I say. I’m not even sure where it comes from, really; it just slips out. 

“D’you have, like...a bank of dickish things to say just...stored up?” Simon asks. “Or d’you really come up with this shit on the spot?” 

I’m not sure what the answer is, but I brace myself for him to say he doesn’t want _this_ anymore. (Why _would_ he want to be with someone with a backlog of insults at the ready, anyway?) (Though I suppose he did tell me he finds my sarcasm _hot,_ just the other day.) (Perhaps I just don’t know how _not_ to be a complete arsehole.) Surely ours will be the shortest relationship in recorded history—

“Baz?”

I blink. And swallow. “Yeah?”

Simon’s brow knits together as he shifts and tucks one of his hands beneath his head. I can feel the mattress dipping as he moves. “Why _did_ you lock the door? Your aunt’s not home.”

Oh. Alright, I suppose we’re just moving on, then.

“Dev has a key to this flat,” I say. I’m having an awful bit of mental imagery of my idiot cousin barging in with Niall while I was trying to get myself off in the bathtub. To thoughts of Simon. _Who’s now here with me in my fucking bed._ “He won’t hesitate to use it.” 

“What’s he walked in on you wanking or something?”

I don’t have anything to say to that. 

Simon waits a beat as I lie here praying for death to take me. Then he leans in, eyes wide and conspiratorial and shining. “Oh my God, _really_?” 

“Snow…”

“What? Everyone wanks, yeah?”

Honestly I just want to sink underneath my blankets and hide right now. Surely my face is tinged at least five shades of red—

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Simon says. He’s bloody well _chuckling_ at me. (I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.) “I mean. Be embarrassed about the Dev thing; that’s well embarrassing. But like. We can talk about...sex stuff. I mean.” Now I’m not the only one burning red. (I’m just _burning;_ Simon Salisbury is talking to me about _sex stuff_ in my _bed._ ) “Probably we _should,_ yeah? Seeing as we’re boyfriends and all, now.”

“Hm.” My eyes have slipped closed, partly so I don’t have to look at him for this, and partly because my medication makes me drowsy. “One kiss and you think you can talk to me about _sex stuff._ Methinks you doth _presume_ too much—”

“ _One_ kiss?” 

I open my eyes, because I’m weak. Because I want to see the face he’s making right now. 

He shoves me in the shoulder and I can’t help it, I _laugh._ “ _One_ kiss, you say?” Then he bloody well _attacks_ me, rolls onto me and pins me to my mattress. I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, of Simon Salisbury in my bed, trying to talk to me about _sex stuff,_ batting my wrists away as I try to deflect him—

Simon’s laughing, too. 

I’m panting by the time he relaxes against me. Our chests and stomachs are heaving against each other, and he’s looking down, narrowing his eyes at me. (I wonder if he’s about to kiss me again…)

He licks his lips. “I snogged you good and proper, I did,” he says. “Admit it. Bloody _one kiss,_ bollocks—”

I reach up and kiss _him_ just to shut him up. His surprised little sound tumbles down my throat. 

My body’s too heavy to hold myself up like this, even with my hands around Simon’s neck. No matter how much I want to keep on kissing him, just like this. Kissing him...

I let go of his lips, then, and lie back against my pillow. He’s grinning down at me. 

“I could get used to this,” he says. 

_Me too,_ I think.  

“Get off me, Snow,” I say. “You’re ravishing me.” 

“Oh.” He rolls back to his side of the bed and faces me again. “Sorry.”

“I’m taking the piss,” I mumble. I’m so _tired._ “Mostly, anyway. And…” I stare at one of his curls instead of looking him in the eye. It’s sticking up at an odd angle and has absolutely no right to be as lovely as it is. (It’s comforting somehow, too.) “You’re right. We should...talk about... _that._ But I absolutely will be embarrassed, so.” I’m already embarrassed, lisping my words. 

“I wish you wouldn’t be,” he says.

I let my eyes slip closed again. “Snow. I _will_ be. It’s just.” I don’t know how to explain this, the way everything seems to be twisting up in my head. The way the thought of being close to him can arouse me and petrify me in the space of the same breath. “I just _will_ be,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn't talk about it.” 

I’ve still got my eyes closed, so I don’t know Simon’s reaching for me until I feel his palm settle against my cheek. His hand is so _warm._ “I meant it. Earlier, y’know. Just. Whatever you want.”

“What do _you_ want, Snow?” 

He’s stroking my cheekbone with his thumb, and I can’t help but reach up and set my hand over his. 

“You,” he says. “And all that, when you’re ready.” 

I curl my fingers around his. “Are you afraid?” I ask. “You’ve. Well, you’ve never been with another bloke before.”

“Yeah, well. Neither have you, so. Not really in it alone, am I?” 

I huff an amused noise through my nose. “No, I suppose not.”

His thumb strokes along my cheek again. “If we’re being honest...I mean. All of this—everything we did tonight. It’s.”

I open my eyes, then. Simon’s chewing on the inside of his lip. (I decide that now isn’t the time for a crass remark.)

“Wasn’t scary,” Simon says. “Doing stuff with you, I mean. It was just... _good._ And I…” If it weren’t so dim in here, I’d swear his cheeks are burning red. “I just wanted to make you feel good. I, um.” He’s so close that I can feel his breath coming fast against my face. “‘M sorry we had to stop. I mean, it’s fine. Just. I mean I’m sorry if it made it bad for you? Your brain stuff—”

“Simon,” I stop him. I stop him because I know he feels responsible, somehow, for whatever bloody reason. I stop him because I need to tell him it was _good._ (So good…) Even if I’m fucking terrified to say so. “You were lovely,” I say. “I would’ve.” _I would’ve kept going, if not for..._ “Well. I still think we should...take things slow, yes? But you were lovely.” Apparently _lovely_ is the extent of my vocabulary tonight; bleeding _hell…_

“You’re the lovely one,” Simon says, and I think my heart is _actually_ going to burst this time. (How could it _not_?) “I, um. S’fine, about taking it slow, yeah? I’ve got hands and all.” He chuckles nervously. “I, um. Secretly I had a wank in your shower.” 

I don’t know why it shocks me. The admission, perhaps; not the actual fact. 

“Hope that’s not too weird…” Now _he’s_ the one who sounds embarrassed.

Fucking _hell…_

“No,” I say, though it comes out more like a pubescent _crack._

"You’re just. Well. You’re _hot_ , is what you are. Plus I like you. A lot. So. Couldn’t really help it, yeah?” His hand is still resting on my face, and now I’m thinking about him using that same hand to pleasure himself in my shower...

How will I ever shower or bathe in peace _again_? (Not that I do anything in peace.) ( _Fine,_ in relative peace, then.)

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Anyway,” Simon says. “Um—”

“I did, too.” I say it before I can lose my nerve. And probably because I don’t want _him_ to be embarrassed, either. Or I want us to be embarrassed together over the two of us wanking in private solidarity. 

Simon breaks out into a slow grin. “Fucking hell, that’s. Just. _Fuck._ ”

My heart’s racing again, and my face is burning, and surely immolation is imminent. I close my eyes again, let go of his hand. “That’s _what,_ Snow?” 

“Well fuck, Baz, it’s _hot,_ innit?” He moves his thumb over my bottom lip. It makes me shiver. (It also makes me nauseous.) 

I’ve no idea what to say to that.

 

**SIMON**

I think I’ve embarrassed him.

I’ve still got my hand on his face, and I’m tracing his lips with my thumb, and Baz has closed his eyes again. (He keeps doing that; I’m not sure if he’s tired or if he just doesn’t want to look at me.)

Probably I should stop talking about sex. And wanking. All that. 

His lips are so full. I mean, they’re always full, but they’re lovely and swollen from kissing, and they’re soft under my touch.

I slow my circles until they come to a stop, and Baz kisses the pad of my thumb. Something about that just makes me smile.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, and his breath’s starting to slow... 

I lift my hand from his face and reach down to take him by the hip. Baz’s eyes finally flutter open. God, his _eyes._ The lamplight’s low, and his pupils are huge, but they’re still so lovely...

Baz is my boyfriend. My _boyfriend._

I’m grinning like an idiot. I don’t think I’ll _ever_ stop grinning. Then again I can think of some other things I could do with my mouth…

“Hey,” I whisper. 

Baz lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, the wanker. 

I move in closer until I’m practically sharing his pillow and nudge his nose with mine. (Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have…) (No, it’s fine; he doesn’t seem bothered.) His eyes slip closed again, and I tilt my chin forward until my lips are on his. 

It’s soft and gentle and lovely, kissing him here in his bed. I roll until I’m halfway-draped over him (I keep my lower half against the mattress). Baz tucks his hands beneath my shirt, his palms pressing warm into my back. 

I trace my tongue along his lips until his mouth opens under mine. He tastes wrong, like mint. 

I'm going to keep kissing him until he tastes like Baz again.

 

**BAZ**

Simon Salisbury is still kissing me.

I’d kiss him forever, if I could, but the fact is I’m nodding off. (I’m entirely too tired to be embarrassed about it.) 

"Snow," I mumble against his lips.

"Hm?" he hums back. He doesn't stop kissing me.

"My medicine." Kiss. "It puts me to sleep." Kiss.

Kiss. Kiss. _Kiss._

Simon's thumb strokes along my jaw. He's still kissing me. "G'night, love." Kiss. Kiss. _Kiss._

_Love._

I'm going to fall asleep kissing Simon Salisbury.

I'm going to...

Going to…

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I totally forgot to mention in my notes last chapter that the whole "let's pick a movie" situation was taken directly from my own dang life, lmao. Okay, fine, this whole fic is just my blatant self-insert fic BUT that was an actual scene from my life! It's how my husband & I had our first *sober* kiss, lol. All the surrounding stuff is made up but the whole bit where Baz tries to pick something & Simon lies down with his head against Baz's back is literally just a retelling of my life. Thought y'all might find that amusing. 
> 
> Side note: I'm not sure what my update schedule will be like over these next few chapters (okay, I have no update schedule as is, but I usually get something out every 2 to 3 weeks). The Carry On Countdown is coming up this month, & I intend to do all the prompts (both writing & art) so I'll be devoting some of my time to that as well as BTL. (Some of my ideas for the prompts _are_ in the BTL-verse tho, so...) Just a heads up! 
> 
> Thanks for reading as always <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all! Hi! Hello!
> 
> It's been a minute. But sweet buttery Jesus, I managed to finish the Carry On Countdown. Also it just so happens that this chapter was a pretty good fit for the final prompt: Christmas celebration. (It's not _exactly_ Christmas yet for them, but it's Christmas Eve, & TODAY'S Christmas Eve in our time, & damn I find it hilarious that I started this fic in MAY & I'm posting this now at the same time of year as the fic takes place, holy shit.)
> 
> So! Welcome back, & I hope y'all enjoy the chapter. Let's get this party started. Hope y'all are okay with gratuitous (mostly plot-relevant) makeouts.
> 
> Oh. Wank alert, by the way, but what else is new.

**BAZ**

I wake up in Simon Salisbury’s arms. 

It seems too good to be true at first, like something I’ve dreamt up. 

I take a deep breath and open my eyes. 

Snow’s eyes are still closed, his curls a tousled mess. His lips are hanging open, just a bit, his face squashed against his pillow ( _my_ pillow). There's a lovely scattering of freckles across his nose that I'm just noticing (we've never been so close in the light of day). The sun has just started to rise, and my room is dim, and cool, and comforting. It snowed in the night; I can tell by the colouring of the light peeking through my window. 

My bedside lamp is still on, the soft glow catching in Simon's hair.

Simon is warm, _hot,_ even, like a human furnace. I shuffle closer, and he makes a delicious sound low in his throat as he tightens his arms around me. 

I’m just about to close my eyes again, about to revel in this, to savour it, when his flutter open, blue and shining and so bloody _close._

His lips quirk up at me. “Morning,” he says, his voice hoarse and husky with sleep. He reaches for my hair and starts stroking it out of my face. The gentleness of it—the _familiarity_ —has a nervous lump rising in my throat. I try to swallow it down, try to enjoy his hands on me, his touch...

His eyes slip closed again and he leans in—

I pull back. “Snow. I have morning breath.”

He huffs a laugh and doesn’t open his eyes. “So?” 

“It’s disgusting.”

He shrugs, somehow. His forehead crinkles as he lifts his eyebrows. “Don’t care. Wanna kiss you.” 

And then he’s leaning in, getting no more argument from me. 

It _is_ disgusting, but it’s _good,_ too. 

Kissed to sleep by Simon Salisbury. Kissed _awake_ by him…

I could get used to this.

“Mm.” The sound rumbles through his chest and against my lips. "I do need a piss, though.” 

“Charming, Snow.”

“D’we have time?” he asks. 

I know what he means. _How much time do we have before I need to leave?_

I wish the answer were all the time in the world.

“A few hours,” I tell him. “Time for breakfast, at least.”

“I close tonight,” he says. “So I’m yours till you get rid of me. And also.” His eyes open again. I’m lost in the ordinary blue of them. “Wouldn’t mind spending some time right here, yeah?” 

 _I’m going to spend my morning in bed with Simon Salisbury,_ kissing _Simon Salisbury…_

“We should brush our teeth,” I say, and he snorts.

“Fine, if you’re so hung up on it—”

“It’s basic _hygiene,_ you animal.”

“C’mon then,” he says. He hugs me closer before letting go of me and shifting up in bed. “I’ll have a piss and then we can brush our teeth like civilized human beings, or whatever the fuck. And then I’d like to snog you senseless. That work for you?” 

I raise an eyebrow at him and pretend to look at least partly disgusted, but I’m humming with anticipatory excitement on the inside. “I suppose,” I say. 

  
  


**SIMON**

I fell asleep in my contacts.

I _could’ve_ gotten up to take them out, once Baz fell asleep. But he was in my arms, and he was warm, and I didn’t want to let him go.

So I didn’t. I didn’t even roll over to turn off his bedside lamp. I just kissed him. I kissed him until he stopped kissing me back, and then I pulled him to me and tucked his head beneath my chin.

He's lovely when he sleeps—of course he is—but he just looked so peaceful. Like his mind was quiet for once.

I liked that, knowing he was safe, that nothing was hurting him. 

Sometimes I think about that, how the thing that hurts him most lives inside of him. It’s terrifying to think about, really. I’m not sure I could handle it, if it were me. 

Baz is strong, though. It makes me proud, how strong he is. 

“I told you not to sleep in those,” he says now. He’s strong, yeah, but he’s also a complete wanker when he wants to be. He keeps laughing at me for squinting and blinking my eyes. They’re just so bloody _dry._

“Oh, piss off,” I say, and I look to the ceiling as I upend his aunt’s contact solution over my right eye. Best to just drown them in it at this point, really. 

I do both eyes, shutting them to keep some solution in as the rest runs down my cheeks. I can practically hear his silent judgement, playful as it is. (I like it. I _like_ being able to poke fun at each other.) 

When I open my eyes, Baz is staring at me, eyebrow in the position. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, too.

“Yeah, well.” I shoot him a grin. “At least I’m a fit one. And at least my hair doesn’t look like _that_.” It’s really not that bad, but I know for a fact that Baz would never leave the house looking anything less than pristine. His hair is _definitely_ less than pristine just now, bits of it falling from his elastic and into his face. The knot itself’s been pushed off-centre in his sleep. 

The whole thing’s well adorable, to be honest, especially now that he’s lifted both eyebrows at me  instead of just the one.

He turns to his mirror as he reaches back and lets his hair down. “I can assure you that yours is an atrocity, Snow,” he says, combing his fingers through the length of his messy black hair to bring it back to perfect. 

He’s right; mine’s actually pretty awful. It’s flat on one side from sleep, and I’ve got curls going in all directions. 

Baz finishes tying his hair and turns back to me. “Suits you,” he says.

Then he grabs his toothbrush and goes to have a piss in his aunt’s bathroom. (I assume. My bladder’s practically bursting; I can’t imagine his isn’t.) I prop the door open once I’ve used the toilet, just in case he’s done brushing his teeth before I am and wants to—I dunno—come up behind me and kiss my neck like I did his last night. I think I’d like that.

I think I’d like that a lot.

I’m none too chuffed about him going home today, if I’m honest. I know that’s selfish, and it’s not like I want to keep him from his family. I just…

Well, I’ll miss him, won’t I? Especially now that I actually _know_ what I’m missing. (I’d miss him even without the snogging, but it’s so _good._ I’d no idea that kissing could feel like _that_.) And he’ll be gone a whole bloody week. 

I’m just going to have to make the most of these last few hours, I guess, and when he comes back next week, we’ll start the year off right. Together. 

_Together._

_Baz is my boyfriend._ That’s what I’m thinking as I finish up with brushing my teeth. (I even do my tongue, mostly because I think he’ll appreciate it. He took something along with his toothbrush that looked like a tongue scraper.) (I’ve never thought about cleaning my tongue before, honestly, but I plan on using it a decent amount this morning.)

Anyway. _Baz_ is my _boyfriend._ What a jammy bastard am I? I mean, I didn’t think he’d say _no,_ but I still wasn’t totally sure, especially since we’d never talked about it. It wasn’t my plan or anything, to ask him out last night. Obviously I figured it’d happen eventually. Or hoped, I guess. 

It just seemed _right_ to ask _,_ I think. Natural. The proper moment.

Baz is my _boyfriend,_ and it sounds a little weird considering I’ve never _had_ a boyfriend before, but it sounds so _good,_ too. 

Also I feel like it makes the whole wanking-in-his-shower thing a little less weird. Being boyfriends does, I mean. Even if he wasn’t skeeved out by it. (I think he might’ve thought it was a bit hot, actually.) (Fuck knows _I_ thought it was hot, when he told me he was touching himself too. Just thinking about it makes my insides all fluttery.) (And now I know what his bedroom looks like, my wank bank material’s about to expand like, considerably.) 

Baz shows up in the mirror before I hear him. (Stealthy as a cat, he is.) I’m just rinsing out my mouth, so I spit before I grin at his reflection. He grimaces back at me and lifts an eyebrow as he puts his toothbrush and scraper back in their holder. 

I just want to kiss him again. (I feel like that’s all I’m ever going to _want,_ now.) I step towards him but he stops me with a hand on my chest. “Wha—”

“Wipe your mouth, you animal,” he says. 

I glance at myself in the mirror and snort. I’ve got a bit of toothpaste drool glistening and dripping down from my bottom lip. 

I wipe it on my pyjama sleeve ( _his_ pyjama sleeve) before I can stop myself. He’s giving me a look like he thinks I’m the most uncivilized person he’s ever met. (I might think that’s true, but also I know Dev.)

I roll my eyes at him and reach for one of his hands with mine. “C’mon. I’m sorry I defiled your posh pyjamas but I promise I can make it up to you.” 

“Hm, _defiled._ That’s a big word for you, Snow.”

“Shut up, you twat,” I say, and then I’m pulling him back across the hallway and into his bedroom. (He closes the door behind us and locks it again.)

It _feels_ like a winter morning in here. The floor's chilly against my feet through my socks. Even the colour of the morning light coming through Baz's window looks cold…

I watch Baz climb back into bed. (It's a sight I could definitely get used to.) Then I turn off his bedside lamp and the room goes dimmer—more _comforting,_ almost—as I crawl in after him.

Baz's gone and buried himself in blankets so only his head (and the bits of his fingers curled around his comforter) are showing. It's endearing, really. 

I quirk a smile at him. "C'mere, love," I say. (I'm just now realizing that maybe I should ask if he even likes being called _love…_ )

He’s giving me the side-eye overtop his blanket. I sort of wish I weren’t wearing socks; then I could tuck a foot up under his pyjama leg and shock him with my cold toes. 

He lifts an eyebrow at me slowly— _so_ bloody slowly. (I’m not sure that it should be a turn on, but it absolutely is.) (I think nearly everything about Baz is a turn on, if I’m perfectly honest.) (That might turn out to be slightly problematic, I guess, since we’ve decided to take things slow and all.) (Can’t be helped, in any case, and I can still kiss him. I plan on doing _a lot_ of that.)

I shove him in the shoulder. “What’re you _doing,_ you berk?” 

Baz quirks the smallest smile at me. “I believe you said you were going to—how’d you put it?— _snog me senseless._ I’m waiting—”

“I just bloody well told you to come here!” 

“Hm. What’re you going to do about it, Snow?” 

I’ll show this wanker what I’ll _do_ about it.

I roll into him, wrestling and laughing with him—sort of like we did last night—until I’ve got his blanket thrown off of him. (I love that, hearing him laugh. It’s one of the best sounds in the world, honestly.) I’ve got my arms around his middle, and he’s struggling against me playfully. I think about trying to tickle him, but I’d really rather be snogging him at the moment, so I tighten my arms around him and _pull_ as I roll back to my side of the bed. 

Baz lands halfway on top of me, his chest heaving against mine. Some loose bits of his hair fall in my face as he looks down and cocks an eyebrow at me. 

I reach up and tuck the strands behind his ear. “C’mere,” I say again.

He does. 

  
  


**BAZ**

I kiss Simon Salisbury as I settle on top of him. 

I was right about my pyjama bottoms—they leave very little to the imagination indeed. I’m counting on the fabric of my trunks to keep me at least marginally contained, but Simon is clearly one for boxer shorts. The feel of him against me is only worsening my own problem, really, but it would seem we’re both pointedly ignoring what’s going on in our pants. 

Well. Just not _doing_ anything about it, rather. Unless humming into each other’s mouths counts as _doing something_ about it. (I wonder if this is all too much, too soon. Possibly. _Probably._ But I don’t care. I’ve suffered immense amounts of sexual frustration because of him these last weeks; at least now I’ll have the memory of his mouth on mine to get myself off to later.) 

I can’t help but think about what happened last night, about what _could’ve_ happened. About what _didn’t_ happen, and what _did._ About breaking down beneath him. There’s a prickle of shame melding along with the pleasure in my belly, and _fuck,_ I wish it would go away. I don’t want that feeling associated with Simon. I don’t want that feeling here between us, threatening to pull us apart—

Simon lets go of my lips. “Hey,” he says against my mouth. His hands are trailing along my back, his fingers catching on the hem of my pyjamas. He flattens one palm against the dimples of my pelvis, skin to skin. “Try not to think so hard, yeah?”

I huff into the air between us. I’ve not opened my eyes. “Big ask, Snow.”

“I know. Just. Be here with me.”

That breaks my heart. It breaks my heart because it’s harder than he thinks. It breaks my heart because I'm not sure it's fully _possible._

But I can still try.

I kiss him again as his thumbs stroke along my hips. My mouth is soft and tentative at first, unpresuming. And then I kiss him as if my brain’s not on fire—because my brain’s not on fire right _now_ , and we should savour that—clinging to him like a life raft, like he’s life itself, like he’s the last breath I've got in my body.

Or perhaps I’m just kissing him like I know I’m not going to be able to for a week. That’s far less dramatic, really. (And no less true.)

Simon’s hands are crawling up the back of my shirt, his fingers tracing the lines of my spine. He’s opening his mouth under mine, teasing my lips with his tongue and then retreating, drawing me in. 

I’m letting him. I’m _following_ him. I want to let him lead me anywhere. I want to leave my mind behind and just let myself _feel_. With my body, my heart.

I feel so much that it's almost painful. But I _want_ it. I want _him._  

I want, I want, I _want._

One of his hands dips below the waistband of my trousers, his palm rubbing at my arse over my pants. It makes my breath catch, and he starts to pull his hand away, but I reach back with my own to hold him in place. _That's alright,_ I think at him, and then I wonder if I'm sending mixed signals. I wonder if we should be doing any of this at all, if we're not going to see it through to the end. 

 _I've got hands,_ he said last night. I suppose that _is_ seeing it through to the end. Separately. Apart. 

I never thought kissing would be like this. I always imagined myself wrapped up in it, unable to think of anything else but _him,_ whoever he’d be. Unable to think of anyone else but _Simon_ , now he’s the one.

I should’ve known better. I should’ve known my mind’s not bloody kind enough to _rest_ —

Simon hums up into my mouth and grabs my arse with his other hand, too, and that makes it easier. He’s here, beneath me, _touching_ me, and I _am_ wrapped up in him, in my own way.

 _Be here with me,_ he said…

I breathe deep through my nose and wind my fingers into his bed-mussed curls.

 _He’s mine,_ I think. _Simon Salisbury is mine…_

_But for how long?_

That’s when Simon’s stomach rumbles audibly, his belly roiling against mine. 

I pull away and smirk at him. He’s looking up at me sheepishly, colour filling his cheeks as he bites at his bottom lip. (They’re red, his lips. Red from _me._ )

“Hungry, Snow?” 

He shrugs against the mattress as his hands move out of my trousers to stroke up and down my sides. “I could eat.” 

Leave it to Simon’s insatiable hunger to save us from ourselves. 

It's probably for the best.

  
  


**SIMON**

This next week's going to be an all-out wank fest, no fucking doubt about it.

That’s what I’m thinking about as Baz puts the kettle on.

No, scratch that. The entire rest of my _life_ is going to be one giant wank fest, now that I know what Baz's arse feels like under my hands. 

I mean. Hopefully _the rest of my life_ is an exaggeration. Like, I _hope_ we'll have fucked before then—

I really, _really_ shouldn't be thinking about that just now. 

"Where d'you keep your pans?" I ask. We're having fried eggs and bacon and toast (and butter), and I don't just want to stand 'round while Baz cooks for me. There's enough room at the stove for both of us, if we stand close. 

Baz crosses his arms and leans against the counter. (I still can’t quite believe we’re stood in his kitchen wearing silk pyjamas…) “Why? So you can mutilate our breakfast?”

“I’m sure you’re used to like, professional cooks or some shit. But I’m actually ace at frying eggs, you posh twat. Thought maybe I’d do that and you can do the bacon.” It’s true—I _am_ ace at frying eggs, and I’d love to show Baz I’m good for more than making decent Pumpkin Mocha Breves and snogging. (I’m not modest; I’m ace at both of those things, too.)

And I _know_ he doesn’t think that’s all I’m good for. But sometimes I think about that—how I still don’t know about school. How I’ve no idea what to even _do_ with my life, when it comes down to it. (I’ve been trying not to think about it—and Baz has been well distracting these last weeks—but I’m going to _have_ to think about it sometime, aren’t I?) (I really don’t want to think about it _now,_ not while I’ve only got a few hours left with Baz. So I’m not going to.)

I think Baz is blushing as he fetches two frying pans from one of the cupboards. He hands one to me then sets about laying rashers of bacon in his. He lifts an eyebrow at the amount of butter I scoop into mine. (I ignore him.)

Then Baz washes his hands, and I turn the burners on, and we're just waiting for the pans to heat, really. 

I knock his hip with mine. "Wanna make out?" I ask.

Baz huffs. "We're cooking _breakfast,_ Snow."

"Not yet we aren't. Pans have to heat up first. We've got a few minutes at least."

His eyes cut to his pan. "Bacon is fickle at best—"

"Still a few minutes." I shrug. "Less time the longer we're stood here arguing about it."

Baz turns and leans against the counter, which is all the invitation I need. 

I crowd up against him and press my hands to his hips. "Sit on the counter?" I ask.

"Why?"

"Because you're a tall git," I say. Our lips are nearly touching already. "And it'd be hot."

"You're ridiculous," he says, but he’s already lifting himself to sit and...oh. 

Well, this hasn’t really fixed the height issue much at all, has it? He might be an inch shorter at most, now.

Whatever, it’s still hot. 

I run my hands along his thighs, the warmth of his skin seeping up through his pyjamas and into my palms. I can feel the pattern of the hair on his legs beneath the silky fabric, which is possibly more exciting than it ought to be. (Apparently I find leg hair sexy.) (At least I do Baz's.) ( _Baz has sexy leg hair._ )

“You’re thinking too hard again, Snow,” Baz says.

“Shut up,” I say, and then I do shut him up. With my mouth. 

Baz hums against my lips—in surprise, I think. (I love that about him, how he acts like things are surprising when really they should be obvious. Like how his belly jumps when I touch him there. Or just now when I kissed him. I mean, we’d _established_ that we were about to kiss; there shouldn’t be anything surprising about it.) I’m smiling against his mouth. 

I press myself as close as I can to him, which means my knees are rattling the bottom cupboards. I’ve got one hand up the back of his shirt, the other cupping his face, my thumb resting at his cheekbone. (He’s got such _lovely_ cheekbones…) Baz’s hands are warm against my hips, and I sort of wish he’d dip his hands into my trousers and palm at my arse like I did his just a bit ago. (No one’s ever grabbed my arse before, and I’m just now realizing that I’d probably like it…) 

I wonder if we’re at a place where I can ask for stuff like that, but then he’s lifting the hem of my shirt ( _his_ shirt) and pressing his hands into the small of my back, and I’m past caring that his hands aren’t in my trousers just now. 

Baz hums again when I tilt my face against his. Fuck, he sounds so _good._ Everything about this does. Our mouths together, the rustling of our fancy pyjamas, the knock of my knees against the cupboards. (The bacon’s started to sizzle, too, which is always a good sound but not the most important one right now.) 

I move my hand back a bit so I can take hold of the back of his neck and pull him closer. (I mean, we’re about as close as we can get, really, but it still isn’t _enough._ ) His mouth opens under mine and I slide my tongue against his. 

Fuck, I just want to keep him here with me. I don’t want today to be over. I don’t want _this morning_ to be over, because once it passes, he’s gone till New Year’s. 

Baz sighs when I let go of his lips, and again when I start mouthing at his neck. I’m just grazing my teeth along that spot behind his ear when he startles against me, his hands clenching against my back.

“So _you’re_ the handsome devil planning to deflower my nephew.” 

I jump away from Baz like he’s made of fire. (He sort of is, really.)

There’s a woman stood a few paces away from us, arms crossed, hip popped. She looks like Baz, if he were older and female and dressed in a lot of black leather. She’s wearing heavy Doc Martens boots. (I know because she’s tapping her foot against the kitchen tile and I can’t help looking anywhere but her face.)

“Simon, innit?” she says. I sort of _have_ to look at her face, now. She’s got an eyebrow cocked at me. (Of course she fucking does…)

This is probably the most embarrassing thing that’s happened since Mum dumped all those condoms in front of me. (I can’t decide which is worse just now.) (Probably this, since Baz’s aunt’s first memory of me will either be me snogging her nephew against her kitchen counter, or me stood here with my fists folded in front of myself, face red as I try to will myself to look her in the eye. Or both.) (At least I wasn't sporting a semi while I was talking to my mum, so yeah. This is definitely 1000 percent worse.) 

“Um,” I start. “Hi?” 

And that’s how I end up frying eggs for Baz’s aunt. 

 

 

**BAZ**

What a bloody nightmare. 

Fiona is supposed to be on holiday with Nicodemus. In fucking _Majorca._ It’s the reason she’s not coming with me to Hampshire this year. 

Fucking _Majorca_. 

“ _I forgot my favourite boots, Basil. Didn’t expect to come home to you canoodling on my counter._ ” That’s what she said to me as she dug through her wardrobe looking for her favourite bloody _boots._ (How many pairs of fucking _favourite_ Doc Martens can one person own?) “ _You shagged him yet?”_

Then she decided to stay and have breakfast with us. “ _I_ _’ll just let Nicky know. Plane’s not off the ground for a few more hours. I’ll eat and run._ ” 

Fuck. _Me._ If I were ready for Simon to be engulfed by the hellfire that is my aunt, I bloody well would've made sure to warn him first. And I sure as fuck wouldn't have been _canoodling._

“So,” Fiona says to Simon through a mouthful of toast, “I ‘spose now’s the time to tell you that if you hurt my nephew, I’ll be obliged to hang you by your bollocks from a telephone pole.” 

“For fuck’s sake…”

“That’s well creative,” Simon says. “I’d probably do the same to me, if I hurt Baz.” 

Fiona’s leveling him with a look, but I think she might be smirking, too. “You’d hang yourself by your own bollocks.” It isn’t a question.

Simon shrugs. Then he looks at me. “I won’t hurt him. Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Unintended hurt still gets you strung up by one bollock.” 

“I’m willing to risk it.” 

Fiona lifts her chin and stares at him with one raised brow. (I hate how much she looks like _me…_ ) “Good lad,” she says. “I’ll hold you to it.” She shovels more food into her mouth, and for a moment I marvel that she isn’t related to Dev by blood. “Top-notch fried egg, by the way.”

  
  


**SIMON**

Baz’s aunt doesn’t stay long, thank fuck. 

I know this is her flat and all, but that was well unexpected and embarrassing. Also I don’t have much time left with Baz before he’s off to Hampshire, and I’d much rather spend it alone with him.

Baz practically ushers her to their front door once we’ve eaten. 

She looks over her shoulder at me. “See you around, Simon. Don’t forget what I said.” 

“See you.” I wonder how many more shovel talks I’m going to get from this family, or if maybe I’m done. “And I won’t.” 

“Good.” She lifts herself on her toes to peck Baz on the cheek, and Baz looks equally surprised and terrified. “See you next week.” She glances at me again, then says to Baz, “ _Don’t forget the condoms._ ” 

“Good _bye,_ Fiona,” Baz says, and she smirks, and then she’s gone.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my pyjamas. ( _His_ pyjamas.) “Well,” I shrug. Baz locks the door and turns around. He looks...unamused. “That went well.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“Nah.” I shake my head and grin at him. “I’d’ve had to meet her eventually anyway, yeah? If you plan on keeping me around.” I shift from foot to foot, and when Baz walks up to me, I pull him in close. He groans and drops his forehead against my shoulder. “Are you?” I ask. I’m stroking one hand up his back, the silk of his pyjamas smooth beneath my fingers. “Planning on keeping me around?”

Baz huffs against my shoulder. “For the moment.” 

“Hey!” I shrug my shoulder against his face, and he laughs. 

I pull him to me by the hips until they’re flush with mine (probably a bad idea, honestly, but I can’t help it) and tilt my face up to look at him. “She liked my fried eggs. She said so.”

“That she did.” 

I give him _a look._ “And?”

“And _what_.”

“Oh my _God,_ did _you_?” 

Baz smirks at me, the tosser. “They were adequate.” 

I reach back and smack him on the arse. (I hope that’s okay.) (He jumps when I do it, and it's the fucking cutest thing I've ever seen.) “C’mon, _Baz_ —”

“Jesus Christ, Snow. _Yes._ They were the best fucking fried eggs I’ve ever had in my life. Though they would’ve been better _without_ the interruption. Happy?” 

I smile smugly at him and give his arse a squeeze. “Very.” Then I tilt my chin upwards to catch his lips with mine. They’re soft from bacon grease and butter, and so _warm._

I’m thinking of all the things we could do together, and all the things we won’t be doing until he’s ready for them. I wonder what we should do _now,_ in this last little bit of time before he’s gone. (I’m fine if we keep on just like this, if I’m honest.) 

Our lips make a soft sound as I pull back. I’m holding his face in my hands, and he’s clutching my wrists, and when his eyes flutter open, he looks like he can’t believe any of this. Like he can’t believe I’m kissing him. (Of _course_ I’m bloody kissing him.) 

“What d’you wanna do?” I ask him. “Should we go back to your room…?” I don’t want him to think this is all I want. It’s _not,_ obviously. But it’s so fucking good, and I like to think it’s good for him, too. I just want to make him feel something _good…_

Our hips are still pressed together, and I can feel him. There’s no way he can’t feel me, too. (I’m half-hard already; I can’t _help_ it…) 

Baz grips my wrist tighter and lets his forehead fall against mine. “I…” He swallows. “I need to shower.” 

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.” _Don’t push him._ (I’m not _trying_ to push him.) “Everything alright—?”

“ _Yes,_ Snow,” he says. (He’s lisping.) “But I do need to shower and get dressed. I’ll make it quick, and then we’ll still have some time afterwards. We can leave together.” 

 “Okay, yeah.” I press our mouths together again, just quickly. Just enough to suck on his bottom lip and hear him hum against my mouth. “I’ll get dressed while you shower.”

“Here,” he says, and he breaks away from me. “Come on, I’ll loan you a jumper.” He’s already headed towards his bedroom, so I follow.

“Y’don’t have to,” I tell him. “I was just gonna wear what I wore yesterday—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. (I don’t think I _am_ being ridiculous; I’d only be dressed in the same clothes for the drive home. Though I’ll admit I do like the idea of wearing _his_ clothes.) He’s in and out of his wardrobe right quick, and when he comes back he’s holding up a Scandinavian jumper: deep blue with a white pattern. 

He hands it to me on its hanger. “This one should look good on you.” There’s a blush across his nose and cheeks, and it’s got me wanting to kiss him again. (I mean. _Everything_ makes me want to kiss him.) 

I take it from him. “Thanks.”

“Take good care of it, Snow. You’ll be holding onto it for weeks on end, knowing you.” 

He’s probably right about that, but I call him a prat anyway. 

He ducks back into his wardrobe to grab something for himself to wear, and when he comes out we’re both just stood awkwardly on either side of his bed, holding his clothes. 

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll be back.” His eyes cut to the side, and when I turn ‘round, I see what it is he’s looking at. The box of tissues on his bedside table. There’s a rush of heat low in my belly as I think on the implications, of Baz practically inviting me to—

Jesus _Christ._

My blush tingles all the way up my spine and into my cheeks, and when I look at him, he’s quirking an eyebrow at me. 

Then he leaves me here and closes the door on his way to the bathroom. 

Fuck me.

  
  


**BAZ**

" _I need to shower,_ " bleeding _hell._

I've got to be the least sensual person Snow has ever kissed. I'm bloody sexually inept. I felt him half-hard against me, and I panicked, and I fucking blurted that I needed to _shower._

Well. I do. And it's not like I'm not half-hard, too. I can take care of myself, and then I'll be able to be marginally less frustrated when Simon kisses me. 

I just left Simon alone in my bedroom to…

Oh, _fuck_.

Alright, this is fine. 

I set my pile of clothes on the bathroom counter (along with Simon’s jumper from yesterday that’s still hung over the shower rack), then slip my mobile from the pocket of my pyjama bottoms and set it facedown on top. I lock the door, even though I know Snow wouldn’t walk in on me. Then I turn on the tap and take off my pyjamas slowly, slowly, _slowly._

I’m imagining that Simon’s here with me now, that he’s the one undressing me. I let the shirt and trousers fall gently to the floor, shuck my pants. Slip the elastic from my hair…

 _It’s not wrong,_ I think as I step into the shower. Heat and desire are blossoming low in my belly. (They have done since Simon pulled me close…)

 _It’s not wrong to want him,_ I think as I close the curtain behind me. _None of this is wrong._

I let the water beat hot against my scalp, my shoulders. Thread my fingers through my hair to spread the dampness. And I think of Simon, the way he touched me in the entryway just now. The way he sat me on the counter and slotted himself between my legs as he kissed me, earlier. How he pulled me on top of him in my bed, and I could feel him hard beneath me, _against_ me. How I wanted him. How I _want_ him. How he touched himself last night inside this shower…

How he’s probably touching himself right now, in my bedroom. 

I’m achingly hard, and I _need_ to come, and suddenly I’m anything but ashamed. (Well. Maybe there _is_ shame, but it certainly isn’t the loudest part of me at the moment.) 

My breath is shaking as I cup myself and start to rock against my palm. 

I wonder what would happen, if I left the shower now. If I walked back into my room, wet and naked and wanting…

Simon’s probably naked, too. Flushed and hard and perfect…

Or maybe he’s wearing my jumper and nothing else. 

I think about him pulling me to him, about him nipping at that spot behind my ear, wrapping one broad hand around the both of us and bringing us off together—

My back arches, and my head tilts back, and my breath catches, and I ride out my pleasure thinking about Simon Salisbury touching me. _Kissing_ me. 

I’m bracing myself against the wall when I come back down from the high. I’m shivering, so I turn the tap hotter. 

Then I stand under the stream and try my damnedest not to let the shame sink in. 

  
  


**SIMON**

I can hear Baz’s shower running, and it’s getting me hot.

I mean. I’ve been spoiling for it—at least partly—all morning. (Minus the bit where Baz’s aunt was here.) But now I’m thinking about him taking off his clothes, and I’m just burning up. 

Baz naked in his bathroom. Baz with water running down his perfect body. Baz inside his shower—I _know_ what the inside of his shower looks like now, and I see it perfectly—touching himself. Thinking about me while he does it. 

I mean, he practically told me to have a wank while he’s gone. With his eyes. 

I guess it’s okay to do it in his bed, then. 

I take off his fancy pyjamas and throw them in his hamper (I have to _look_ for the hamper first; turns out it’s hidden away inside the walk-in wardrobe), then I lie down on his bed in my pants and stare at the box of tissues on the bedside table. 

I’m about to have a wank in Baz’s bed—in my _boyfriend’s_ bed—and it was practically his idea... 

I wonder if this is typical boyfriend behavior, or if Baz and I are just disproportionately horny. I've never had a boyfriend before, so I wouldn't know.

Fuck it.

I push my boxers down. 

  
  


**BAZ**

I take my time toweling off and getting dressed. 

Usually I’d’ve opened the door by now, but I think Simon’s still in my room, and I want him to be the one who comes out first. 

There’s a small bit of mirror left unfogged at the bottom, so I bend and try to get a look at myself as I comb my hair. Then I sit on the closed toilet and check my mobile to kill more time, which is an immediately regrettable decision.

 

 **Imbecilic Relation (12:19 am):** wot time r u picking me up

 **Imbecilic Relation (8:22 am):** hey

 **Imbecilic Relation (9:03 am):** heyyy

 **Imbecilic Relation (9:52 am):** HEYYY

 **Imbecilic Relation (10:16 am):** bazzybooboo

 **Imbecilic Relation (10:37 am):** sgkdhlzhl DID U ACTUALLY FUCK THIS TIME

 **Imbecilic Relation (10:51 am):** omg

 **Imbecilic Relation (10:51 am):** omfg

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:05 am):** ok I'm happy for u but also still need to know when ur picking me up

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:20 am):** fuck 

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:21 am):** it must be GOOD

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:34 am):** wots his dick like

 **Baz (11:56 am):** And they say I'm the mentally ill one in this family.

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:57 am):** DID YOU FUCK

 **Baz (11:57 am):** NO. And you’re reminding me of exactly the reason I put my mobile on silent last night. 

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:58 am):** …

 **Imbecilic Relation (11:58 am):** hes still there isnt he

 **Baz (12:00 pm):** I’ll pick you up around 1:30.

 **Imbecilic Relation (12:00 pm):** I FUCKIN KNEW IT

 

I didn’t realize it was so late already. 

My heart’s just started to sink with the knowledge that my time with Simon’s almost come to an end, when my mobile lights up in my hand.

 

 **Fit Idiot (12:01 pm):** how bloody longs it take to get dressed you toff

 

I’m shaking my head, but I’m smiling.

  
  


**SIMON**

When Baz opens his bathroom door, steam and cedar and bergamot roll out. 

And then he’s stood there in the doorway, his long hair damp and slicked away from his face. It’s starting to curl up at the ends, and I can see the waves starting to form. (I wonder how long it normally takes to dry.) (I still want to take a photo with him before I leave, and I can’t imagine he’d want to take one with wet hair, even if he does look lovely this way.) 

He’s wearing a chunky grey cardigan jumper and dark fitted jeans that make me want to shove my hands into his back pockets. He’s not wearing socks. (It’s the first time I’ve seen him without socks since I came over last night. I wonder if his feet are cold…)

When I look back at his face, he’s got one eyebrow in the position. “Like what you see, Snow?” he says. He’s lisping—not _quite_ as much as usual—and I can’t help but think he likes the sight of me in his jumper. (He was right; it _does_ look good on me.) 

I try to take a leaf out of his book and say, “Well spotted.” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes at me, but he’s smiling, too. It’s small—just barely playing at the corners of his mouth—but it’s there. 

I close the distance between us and slip my hands into his back pockets. I have to share one of them with his mobile, so I take it out and stick it in one of his front pockets instead. Much better.  (I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to the feel of the swell of his arse under my hands.) 

His eyes are already closed, like he’s waiting for me to kiss him. 

I do. 

He’s extra-warm from his shower. It’s a comfort, really. 

Some of his damp hair falls into our faces as we kiss. It gets sort of stuck to my cheek, but I’m not paying it any mind. 

Baz is. He reaches up and brushes it away as I pull his bottom lip between both of mine. Then he’s got both hands at the back of my neck and it’s nice, but I’m still hoping he’ll reach down and slip his hands into my pockets, too. 

It’s a good thing we both had a wank. (I mean. I assume he did, too.) Otherwise I’d already be getting riled up, and really all I want’s to kiss him just now. To know what it’s like _just_ to kiss him. To kiss _Baz._  

I pull away so we can catch our breath. Then Baz rests his forehead against mine and we just stand here in the doorway to the bathroom. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” I tell him. 

He scoffs. I can feel the rush of his breath against my collar. “You’ll miss my _arse_ , Snow.” 

I smile even though he can’t see me do it. “Well, yeah,” I say, and I give him a squeeze for emphasis. “But mostly I’ll miss you.” 

“It’s only a week.” 

“Think the last time I went that long without seeing you was before I worked at the shop.” 

“Yes. And then you stalked me and gained employment and somehow that all worked out for you.”

I snort. “Didn’t stalk you.” I give his arse another squeeze. “But yeah, think it worked out for me pretty well, honestly.” 

Baz’s hands trail down my back until his fingers curl around the hem of my jumper. ( _His_ jumper.) He sighs. “I told Dev I’d be at his at 1:30.” 

I push against his forehead with mine. “A little more time for us, then.” 

He shivers against me, and I pull back, sliding my hands from his pockets to hold him at his waist. “You cold, love?” 

"It’s my hair.”

I nod towards his feet. “Maybe if you put some socks on—”

“It’s my _hair,_ Snow. It’s still damp.” 

I grin at him. “Socks’d probably still help.” (I’m still planning on buying him socks with t-rexes printed on.) (Also I’m thinking I could do a decent job of warming him up myself.) “D’you…” I start, because I realize I’ve just gone and called him _love_ again. “I mean. Is it okay to call you _love_? Sort of slipped out last night. Just keeps slipping.” 

Baz huffs a laugh. “I suppose.” 

That’s not _quite_ the answer I’m looking for. Though I guess it’s a rarity for Baz _not_ to go for sarcasm on the first try. “Well,” I prod. (Literally; I prod him with my whole body against his, crowding against him. He’s practically sitting on his bathroom counter at this point.) “D’you like it?” 

His eyes flick down and land somewhere in the Scandinavian pattern surrounding the collar of my jumper. ( _His_ jumper.) He sets one hand against my chest and starts toying with a loose thread, his brow furrowing. Then he flattens his palm there and stares at that instead. “I love it,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear it. 

“Fitting, that,” I say. And then I tilt my chin forward and press my lips to his again. 

  
  


**BAZ**

_Love_.

Simon’s hands are in my hair, his chin moving against mine, his tongue delving into my mouth and drawing sighs from me. _He’s_ sighing into my mouth, too. 

He’s pressed me back into my bathroom counter again, and I’m listening to the sounds we’re making together. Sighs. Little rumbles of pleasure almost too quiet to hear. The languid, soft slide of our lips against each other...

 _He wants to call me_ love. 

I’ve no idea what to call him, other than _Snow._

I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I’ve no idea what I’m _doing._

_Love…_

Simon huffs a laugh and breaks away, his forehead resting against mine, his nose pressing into my cheek. I miss the feel of his mouth against mine immediately. I’d never been kissed until last night, and now I’m hungry for it. _Starving._

“What’s funny, Snow?” 

“I’ve just remembered.” He giggles before grazing his lips against the corner of my mouth. “Yesterday. I almost called you _babe._ In a _text_.” 

I’m not sure where the joke is. 

“And this is funny to you because—?”

“S’just. I mean, it’s _not,_ really.” He pulls back to look at me, smoothing his hands down to my waist as he does. It feels better than it has a right to, even through the thick fabric of this jumper. “Thought it was too soon, yeah? We’d not even kissed…”

“ _B_ _abe,_ ” I say.

“ _Babe_ ,” he repeats, then he slumps into me and giggles again. “Almost made a complete arse of myself.” 

“Hm. What else is new?” I say, but I’m practically melting. _Swooning,_ really, if the counter weren’t holding me up. 

Simon snorts into my shoulder. Then he takes me by the hips and pulls back to look at me again. “D’you like that, too?”

“What.”

He nudges me with his whole body. “ _Babe._ ”

I think I’d love absolutely anything Simon could call me (even bloody _Tyrannosaurus_ at this point, though I hate to admit that to myself). 

I shrug in his arms. “I suppose that’s also adequate.” 

“What’re you going to call me, then?” 

“You? I thought we’d landed on _Fit Idiot_ —”

He kisses me, then, one good press of his lips on mine, then pulls away. “Fuck, I love that I can just _do that_ now.” 

 _Me too,_ I think. 

“Fit Idiot it is, then,” I say. 

“You’re such a wanker,” he says, and then he seems to _realize_ what he’s said. His cheeks and ears are going scarlet, but he’s also smirking and making a low _snort_ in his throat. 

I roll my eyes and pretend he’s not making jokes about my masturbatory habits. 

Fit Idiot, indeed.

  
  


**SIMON**

We’re sat on either side of the coffee table again—just like last night—having tea and waiting for Baz’s hair to dry. (I mean, _I’m_ waiting for his hair to dry. I’m not leaving this flat until we’ve taken a photo together.) 

I nudge his foot with mine. (He’s got socks on, now, teal ones with little navy blue sharks.) “How come you’ve not decorated for Christmas?” I didn’t really notice when I got here last night. How could I, when I had Baz to notice instead? 

His brow furrows, and then he says, “Fiona used to, when I was young. But she’s not really around anymore, and I’ve been busy.” He looks like he’s sucking on his teeth, which only makes me want to lean across the table and suck on his lips myself. “I think it’s. Well. This place hasn’t exactly felt like home. Fiona’s here, and she means a lot to me. But it just felt like the place where I was going to uni. Truth be told I was feeling a bit homesick, till recently.”

I wonder if he means that _I’m_ the reason for that _,_ but I don’t ask. I’d feel right stupid if that wasn’t the case. 

He huffs a laugh and threads his fingers through his hair. (It looks lovelier and lovelier, the closer it gets to dry.) “My stepmother will have done,” he says. “She’ll have made up for it and then some. My sister’s still young; it’s still magical to her.” Baz shrugs and sets down his tea. “Also there’s enough mistletoe at the shop to last me a fucking lifetime.”

“Christmas isn’t magical to you anymore?” There’s a lot I could ask him just now, but this seems _important..._

“Well. I wouldn’t go that far.” He drops his gaze to his tea as he plays with the teabag, and I think there’s colour rising in his cheeks. “Not this Christmas, anyway.”

I grin at him and wait for him to lift his eyes again, because now I’m as sure as I can get that he _does_ mean me. “You trying to tell me _I’m_ magical?”

He shoots me a look from under his brow. “ _You_ are a walking catastrophe, Simon Salisbury.” His cheeks are red, and his lips are full and swollen, and he’s _lisping,_ and I can’t stop grinning at him. 

I nudge his foot with mine again. “You’ve been. I mean…” I don’t know how to _say_ anything, suddenly. And telling him he’s _magical_ just seems stupid, even if he does make me feel like I’m on top of the bloody world. 

I just feel so _good_ with him. I feel so warm, even though it’s snowing outside. Even without the tea. 

Baz is still staring into his. (His tea, that is.) 

That’s when I have the idea. 

  
  


**BAZ**

Simon’s face lights up and he scrambles to his feet so quickly it’s a bloody miracle he doesn’t upend the coffee table. 

He’s pulled his mobile out, and he’s scrolling through something, and I’m torn between admiring the broadness of his shoulders in my jumper and wondering what the fuck he’s on about.

He glances at me overtop his mobile, and his eyes are so blue they’re like to kill me. 

That’s when the music starts, the unmistakable tremoring baritone of Elvis bloody Presley singing “Blue Christmas.”

_I’ll have a blue Christmas without you_

_I’ll be so blue just thinking about you_

Simon is shimmying his shoulders—hell, his entire _body_ —towards me in time with the beat, lip-syncing the words. He points at me and exaggerates his movements on _if you’re not here with me,_ and I’m filled simultaneously with second-hand embarrassment and a fluttering inside my belly. He looks completely ridiculous, and I’m absolutely disappointed in myself for wanting to kiss him.

My face is hot, and I’m shaking my head, but I can’t keep the smile off my face. Simon’s smiling, too, grinning widely at me as he makes a complete fool of himself, his hips swaying sensually towards me. 

He sets his mobile on the coffee table during the break in the lyrics and holds out his hand to me. “C’mere,” he says. 

“What’re you—”

“Dance with me.”

“ _What_?” 

“ _Dance with me,_ you berk. C’mon. We’re running out of time.”

I let him pull me to my feet—against every bit of my better judgement—and into his arms. I let him take my hand in his and move us playfully to the music. I’m laughing before I can catch myself. 

Then I trip over one of Snow’s feet, and _he_ catches me.

“You’ve two left feet!”

“Shut _up_ and dance with me, Pitch.” 

I huff as I find my balance again, but I wrap my arms around his shoulders as “Blue Christmas” fades out. Then “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” starts up, and I marvel briefly at the fact that I’m dancing with Simon Salisbury in my sitting room. 

I’ve never danced with anyone before. Not like _this._ Not with someone who wasn’t family, and never a boy. 

Simon presses his cheek to mine and sets one hand at my waist. He takes one of my hands in his other, and we sway in place. I’d barely call it dancing if we weren’t turning—albeit _very_ slowly.

He’s so warm, and solid, and _mine._

_But for how long?_

_Shhh._

He smells like me, from wearing my jumper. From sleeping in my bed. From using my soap. From holding me...

“Would it,” he starts. It’s a breath of air against my ear, and it sends a lovely chill down my spine. (No, not a chill. A _warmth._ ) “Would it be alright, if I got you a gift? For Christmas. You don’t have to get me anything—”

“ _Simon._ You don’t have to get _me_ anything.”

He shrugs, even now with me in his arms. “But I want to, yeah?”

“Well,” I start. It’s not like I haven’t thought about exchanging gifts with him, or even just giving him something. (It feels like he’s given me enough to last a lifetime of Christmases.) “If you’re going to be a stubborn git, then I’m getting you something, too.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. I can feel him grinning against my cheek. “Yeah, then we can have our Christmas once you’re back.”   

“Alright then, Snow.”

He pulls me closer, and holds my hand tighter in his. “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” fades out, and a new song starts, but I’m not paying attention to what it is.

We keep dancing, and I keep not checking the time. 

I’m letting myself lean further into Simon, letting his arms carry me…

“Baz?” he says eventually. It’s three songs later, maybe four.

“Hm?”

“Does it feel like home here, now?”

I press my face closer to his, if that’s possible. His curls are teasing my skin, and he’s so _warm._

I take a breath.

And then I tell him the truth.

“It’s starting to.” 

He pulls back, his blue eyes hooded and shining and _bold_ from the blue of my jumper, his cheeks flushed, his curls a mess of wild, knee-weakening beauty. A crookedly endearing smile etched on his face...

I thought I was already blushing enough, but I was wrong. 

The hand at my waist moves to the small of my back and presses me closer, closer, _closer._

Simon’s forehead rests against mine, and we’re barely swaying to the music, and I think again that this place is starting to feel like _home_ — 

And then he kisses me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright friends. I'm probably going to take a minute to relax since I just made A LOT of content for the countdown & I'm mentally exhausted. But I expect I'll be back with an update soon. Merry Christmas to those of y'all who celebrate; happy holidays to those of y'all who don't. And if you're looking for more BTL content before next chapter, I wrote a decent amount of ficlets during the countdown! 
> 
> [Bo-Nana Bread](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588682) (for the dreams prompt; from Dev's POV)  
> [Canon History, Canon Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785788) (for the apocalypse prompt; deleted text convo from chapter 7)  
> [God Save the Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774106) (for the crack! prompt; non-BTL canon ridiculousness)  
> [True North](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893902) (for the frost prompt; set in present day -- pure fluff)
> 
> I was also honored to have my wonderful friend Bee write a BTL ficlet for the fandom crossover prompt: [Sext Socks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762397) (please give it a read; it's wonderful & funny & adorable) 
> 
> I also wrote [a bunch of ficlets](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557748) in canon-verse for the countdown, so please give those a read if you're interested! 
> 
> See y'all in a few weeks!
> 
>  **EDIT!** : I uhhh needed visual rep of this chapter so [I drew a thing](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/189977139544) 🦖💛💙🦖
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185045378@N05/49361834913/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, y'all. This is my first AU. Not gonna lie, I've no idea what my posting schedule is going to be like or how long this one's going to be. I _thought_ I had the general plot line & whatnot, but then Dev nudged his way in & shit just keeps getting deeper so it's probably going to end up being longer than I thought. And...deeper, lol. (For example, I had this rated Teen - A RARITY FOR ME & I WAS SO PROUD - & then I changed it for mature themes because...we might get into some of those.)
> 
> Moral of the story - I should just stop trying to predict my own writing. It basically never works. 
> 
> Also, side note! It was _ridiculously difficult_ not to say "Crowley" in this! So dang hard!
> 
> Anyway, tell me what you're thinking down below! Comments & kudos always brighten up my day & I want to know how my first AU ever is faring out in the world!
> 
> [I'm on Tumblr,](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/) y'all! I like to post drabbles, fic previews, & reblog like...a TON of Snowbaz fanart. My specialty is making dumb jokes & embarrassing myself on a regular basis.
> 
> [Playlist](https://music.amazon.com/user-playlists/47a4714bdeea4a81a7cf86efe394a9eesune?ref=dm_sh_oYxsX1NM9phOMmk4yCmmV2cTo) (it's small for now but it'll grow!)(Edit: now 32 songs lol)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sext Socks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762397) by [WarriorBeeoftheSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorBeeoftheSea/pseuds/WarriorBeeoftheSea)




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